Day 100
by Last of the Lilac Wine
Summary: Sarah Hannigan cannot remember the last time she had hope, and she certainly cannot remember when anyone else did either. Because really, with the walkers outnumbering humans almost 10000:1, what was left to hope for? But Sarah is a scientist, working with Jenner at the CDC, and suddenly a cure seems to be balanced on a knife edge. And they are so, so close to finding one...Rick/OC
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **Simply because, though I love Daryl, there aren't enough Rick/OC stories out there… (story was taken down and re-posted to allow for changes in plot and certain scenes)

Story **Rated T **for graphic violence, swearing and mild sexual situations.

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**CHAPTER 1**

* * *

'_It's amazing how fast the world can go from bad to total shit storm'._

_-Zombieland (2009)_

* * *

Day 1

"Okay, so the date is the….2nd April 2010 and the time is 5:03 P.M, and, well, my name is Sarah Hannigan. I'm a vaccine scientist. I have a BS in microbiology and public health and an MS and a PhD in immunology, I –" the young woman broke off, glancing at the webcam in front of her and then at the computer that it was hooked up to. She looked at the screen and the video of herself on it, watching as her features were pulled into a frown.

"Hey! Ed? What am I supposed to be doing here?" She asked, pushing her chair away from her desk – a remarkable feet in itself considering how cluttered the room was.

Dr Sarah Hannigan's office was small and cramped, a room given to her in haste so that she could begin with her tasks as quickly as possible. The lab she was head of was considerably more organized and efficient, but as it was, her office only consisted of a large, plain desk, a computer, a heap of files and a few co-workers.

Edwin Jenner, who had been otherwise preoccupied by the latest documents of lab test results, glanced up. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Sarah rolled her eyes, waving her hand behind her in the general vicinity of the computer and webcam. "What am I supposed to be saying here, exactly? I've only been at the CDC, what? A day?"

"Just your observations and experiences so far. We need to document everything."

"Is it really _that_ important?" she asked exasperatedly, aware that a few of her other colleagues had momentarily stopped their own work to hear the verdict on the situation from a higher-up. For his part, Jenner seemed incredibly blasé.

"No idea." He shrugged. "Best to be on the safe side though."

Sarah nodded, the crease between her eyebrows smoothing as her frown lifted. "Well, okay then."

"Is there anything else? Blood tests haven't come through yet, have they?"

"No, not yet. I'll let you know when Adam gives me the data."

Jenner nodded, rubbing the stubble on his chin with a hand. Sarah thought that he looked tired, but in her family they had a long and tortured history of not saying what they ought to and not meaning what they do, so instead of sounding vaguely worried, she managed to blurt out: "You look like shit."

He rolled his eyes. "And you arrived for this job _two days _late – so I wouldn't go insulting your seniors."

"Oi! My _plane _was delayed. And did the world end in my absence?"

"Could well have done. When we get those blood test results back, I'll let you know."

Sarah's heart pinched and she felt the blood in her veins jolt. "I thought you said this wasn't serious."

"Sarah, if this wasn't serious why did they make one of the most qualified vaccine scientists fly all the way to _Atlanta _from Boston."

"But…there have only been two cases!"

"That we know of," Jenner corrected. He glanced around him to make sure everyone was working before grabbing a chair and positioning it in front of Sarah. He sat down, resting his forearms on his legs and leaning in close to look her in the eye. "This thing could spread like wildfire, Hannigan." He said, in a serious under-tone. "I haven't got all the information right now, but I know from the autopsy's performed on the two bodies we have access to that this isn't _good_. Now, what I need right now is for you to finish this video log and then – maybe when we can run data from more blood samples – figure out how serious a situation we have on our hands. Okay?"

All short-comings and failings considered, the one thing you _couldn't _fault Sarah Hannigan for, was her remarkable ability to keep level-headed considering the circumstances and the weight of the information that she'd just become privy to. She stood up quickly, brushing her short blond hair out of her eyes and shook her head at Jenner. "Priorities. If this thing is as bad as your saying – we're going to need those blood test results a hell of a lot faster than by tomorrow morning. I'm going to find Adam."

Before she could walk away, however, the older man grabbed her arm quickly. "You _can't _say anything. I don't want anyone to panic. Not yet. Not until we find out how bad this actually is."

Sarah nodded mutely in agreement before glancing at the webcam. "The camera's still running."

"I'll delete the file. You go get that report."

Day 2

Barely two days later, and it had quickly become apparent how serious of a problem the CDC based in Atlanta had on its hands. The two cases that Jenner had been aware of multiplied to twenty in under an hour and then to roughly two hundred by that time the next day. Sarah was over-whelmed with data – autopsy's on suicide victims, autopsy's on _failed _suicide victims that had somehow managed to come back to life, blood analysis's…

"Sarah!"

Sarah was pulled from the perpetual rain cloud of uncharacteristic indecision that had plagued her mind since that morning by a soft-featured, fiery-haired woman.

Dr Candace Jenner.

Unlike her husband – who was more concerned with the _how _and the _why _of the unknown virus, Candace Jenner's field of interest lay very much more in that of Sarah's – in the treating, the healing, of the virus.

Candace appeared at Sarah's side, grabbing her arm and re-directing her from the corridor she'd been hurrying down, turning her in the opposite direction.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," said the older woman.

"What's going on? Has Browning got back to us?"

Jason Browning – Sarah's immunology professor from college – had been called in from New York when it became increasingly apparent that – though Candace and Sarah, and the small team they were head of had all the data they needed - they had no where near the man power or technology required to process it all. It was a last-ditch attempt to call in more help from leading scientists that hadn't already volunteered their services to the cause.

"He can't get to Atlanta. All flights coming in or going out of the city have been grounded," said Candace, looking harassed as she pulled Sarah through some more corridors. "I wish I had better news for you, Sarah. I'm sorry. But it looks like _we're_ going to have to figure how to create a vaccine for this thing before it spreads any further."

"Brilliant." Muttered Sarah, rolling the sleeves of her white lab coat up to her elbows. "Where are we going exactly?"

"The vaccine's about to be tested." Candace explained, not glancing at her co-worker as she determinedly marched down the corridor. "We've got to be there."

Sarah stopped in her tracks, and Candace, whose hand was still around Sarah's forearm, was jerked to a halt. "_Now_?" asked Sarah, aghast. "Candace, that's impossible! We haven't finished developing it yet!"

"We don't have time!" Candace said, attempting to pull Sarah back into a walk. "Someone just volunteered to go through the trail phase. We don't have the time to be perfecting the vaccine when it could work _now_."

Sarah could feel her heart rate pick up; her pulse was crashing through her body like a drum beat. Or a clock – ticking down the precious moments they had until there was no time left. She knew Candace was right. It wasn't ideal, but there was no time. The primitive, basic form of the vaccine would have to do – there was no time to perform pre-testings on animals or other humans, there was no time to get it cleared by the government. It was now or never.

Sarah looked at Candace. "Okay. Take me there."

The pair took off at a hurried jog – other scientists making their way against them in the corridor stood to the side to make way for the two more senior doctors.

"The volunteer's male," Candace filled her in, as they dived down yet another passageway. "Around twenty – healthy immune system, no other health issues. It's ideal."

Sarah nodded, panting as they came to some double doors, which Candace quickly threw open.

The room that the pair stepped into was of one of those white, overly-clean and sterile types. Glaring white light shone from the ceiling onto a basic operating table, on which a young man was lying. Next to him was another, smaller table, at which two intern doctors in scrubs and masks were prepping the vaccine ready for either Candace or Sarah to administer.

One wall of the room was made almost entirely out of glass, and on the other side of that window, Sarah thought she could make out the shadowy silhouette of Edwin Jenner. She watched as Candace – who almost instinctively seemed to know of her husband's presence – glanced up towards the glass and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. It was now or never.

The two woman made their way over to the operating table and Sarah found that she couldn't seem to take her eyes off of the young man lying upon it.

_His_ eyes were firmly closed, his cheeks pale and his brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He was nervous.

"I make an adorable lab-rat, huh Doc?" he croaked, a trace of a weak smile gracing his lips when his eyes flickered open.

Sarah could hear Candace moving around behind her, readying the vaccine and moved herself slightly so that she'd strategically placed herself in the man's line of vision of the foreboding looking needle.

"What's your name?"

"Jace Shephard,"

"You're a scientist here?"

"I'm a chef at the cafeteria, actually," he said, and when Sarah looked at him questioningly, as if to ask 'so why are you _here_?' he shrugged. "If there's a chance of a cure, I want to help: the news came through this morning that my fiancé got bit."

Sarah blinked. "I'm sorry to hear that."

The man ignored her, adjusting his head so it rested more comfortably against the operating table. He squinted up into the glare of the lights from the ceiling above, not looking at Sarah. "You know, this whole thing is new to me."

She felt the corner of her mouth lift, almost despite herself. "What? Being a lab-rat?"

He chuckled, then glanced at Candace - who had appeared at Sarah's side - and at the vaccine she was holding. "No." he said. "Hoping."

"Sarah, if you could step back now, please. Okay, Mr. Shephard – this is going to hurt a bit." Candace glanced up at the window again – at the people who stood on the other side who would be documenting and recording the whole scene. Her voice became louder as she addressed the room – clearer and more authorative. "Patient's name is Mr. Jace Shephard. The time is now 11.59 A.M. This is the test run of vaccine R5 01. Vaccine being administered in 3…2…1..."

Sarah watched as the needle was inserted into the crook of Jace Shephard's arm. He was out cold in less than four seconds.

_Come on _she whispered. _Please work. This has to work. Please work. _

There was a flurry of movement. The two intern doctors – who had stood back whilst the vaccine was being administered – rushed forwards to check the monitors that Jace was hooked up to the moment Candace stepped away from the operating table.

"Vitals are good," reported one intern, glancing at the monitor before ripping off his gloves and placing two fingers to the pulse point on Jace's throat. "Pulse is strong."

Sarah closed her eyes.

Vaccine R5 01 _had _to work. If it worked on the individual, it could work on entire communities. If herd-immunity was achieved it decreased the number of susceptible individuals and if the number of susceptible people dropped low enough – the disease would be wiped out because there wouldn't be enough people to carry out the catch-and-infect cycle. The remaining walkers could be killed and this whole thing would be a thing of the past. Sarah could feel her palms begin to sweat – _theoretically _it could work. It depended on how easily the disease could mutate and how fast it could spread.

She opened her eyes again. Candace was now hovering at her side, the two women both tense as they observed the medical interns rush around the body in front of them.

"If this works…" Sarah said, her hands clenching into fists, nails biting into the palm of her hand.

"…then our names go down in history," Candace murmured. She turned to look at Sarah. "If this works we've prevented what could potentially be _the _most dangerous out-break of disease in America. We save this mans fiancé, along with the rest of Atlanta and other Southern States."

Sarah swallowed. "_If _this works," she repeated, the words taking on a whole different meaning to what they had before.

And really, for minutes, it looked like it could. Jace Shephard's heart beat – though he still remained unconscious – was marked stoically by the _beep _of the heart monitor at regular intervals. Sarah allowed herself to think that maybe – _maybe _– it could be that easy. That when Jace woke up, a blood analysis would prove that his body had developed immunity to the pathogen, and that then the vaccine could be mass produced and distributed to the communities.

But the monitor flat-lined and for all the world, Sarah had not heard a worse noise than that God-awful, drawn out screeching.

"Oh, shit! No. No no no no no n- NO!" she screamed, beginning to race over to the operation table before she realized that she wasn't a doctor.

She was a scientist.

She could tell you exactly what immunoglobulin was, where it was found and how it effected the body. She could tell you how immunity had developed over time and could practically quote the text book on microbiology.

For the life of her, however, she could not tell you how to re-start the human heart.

"_Shit!_" she yelled tugging at her blonde hair in frustration. What could she _do_?

Candace rushed past her, towards Jace and the two interns. Sarah couldn't help but admire the calmness and skill with which Candace mastered the situation – she somehow exuded an air of authority which seemed to only have been achieved from years of experience on the field.

"Step back," Candace ordered the two interns, before turning to Sarah. "Go and find a defribulator, Sarah."

"We don't have time!"

"Do you want him to _die_? Go and find a defribulator – _now_!"

Sarah felt her mind begin to seize up in shock as she whirled round and made for the double doors.

Despite the panic she was feeling, there was still the small section of her brain that was moving methodically through the possible errors of the vaccine like it was a simple experiment. The vaccine shouldn't be deadly. They didn't use any toxic chemicals. This shouldn't be happening.

She threw open the doors, almost running into Edwin Jenner, who was standing on the other side.

"Sarah!" he said, grabbing her by the elbows to stop her. "What the _fuck _is going on in there?"

"I don't know. One moment he was fine, then the monitor flat-lined and –"

Sarah was abruptly cut off by a sound some people called a scream, but really the noise didn't come anywhere close. If Jenner hadn't been gripping her arm – thereby physically restraining her – Sarah would have been back in the operating room in seconds.

She struggled against his grip, knowing that his brain hadn't quite processed what he had heard. "That was Candace, Ed! Candace! Let. Me. _Go_! ED! Listen! That was Candace!"

She could see his expression clear from its previous blank one. His eyes widened.

With a feral cry, Jenner ripped open the doors with all the bodily force that a tall, strong man like him normally kept in check and pulled Sarah back into the room after him.

If she twisted her head a certain way, she could see past Ed's form to look at the operating table – stained red with blood. The glass window that took up the wall to her right was spider-web shattered from something, and just as Sarah processed that, she realized that what she was seeing: Jace Shephard, alive – or, at least, walking – was impossible. Because Jace was biting into someone's arm – and that someone, who was looking directly into the eyes of her husband with tears of pain blinding her vision – was Candace Jenner.

Ed moved forward in one easy motion, his right fist connecting with the face of what had once been Jace Shephard, knocking it back. Supporting his wife, whose arm was bleeding out freely down the front of his shirt, Jenner turned to Sarah.

"Kill it!" he yelled. "Sarah, kill it!"

And Sarah just stood.

The smell of fresh blood was sending the walker into a frenzy. But it didn't look like a walker. It didn't bare the grotesque, ashen skin or the missing limbs like other walkers that Sarah Hannigan had seen. This walker looked exactly like Jace Shephard had minutes ago, sans the disturbing white in its eyes, the broken nose from Jenner's punch and Candace's blood that was smeared across its face.

Quite easily, it could have been human.

It sure as fuck _looked _human – and that was the hardest part of the whole situation.

That, and the knowledge that – in some way – it was Sarah's vaccine that had somehow caused all this.

"Kill it!" Jenner screamed again.

Guilt coursing through her veins, panic and fear and adrenaline and a million other feelings and emotions that Sarah couldn't quite name sparking in her body; she lunged forward for a medical scalpel that sat on the smaller table in the room.

The sudden movement catching its eye, the walker turned its attention from Candace to Sarah – running towards her.

In a motion not quite as fluid or as coldly precise as that of Jenner's punch, Sarah stepped forward. For one, horrible second, she was staring into its eyes. For another she had her hand firmly gripping the back of its neck, preventing its snapping teeth from getting any closer to her and holding its head in place. And in the last moment, she was plunging the scalpel through the forehead and into the brain.

The walker gave a sickening jerk, but continued to struggle against Sarah's grip, reaching for her.

_You look like a human_, she thought. _It feels like I'm murdering a person_.

Stifling her gagging reflex, she removed the scalpel, plunging it into a different part of the head. Blood was gushing from the walker's wounds and onto her forearms and hands, staining them red.

Once the walker had dropped to the ground, and she'd kicked it with her foot to ensure it was definitely dead, she turned to Jenner and Candace.

It was the strangest thing, watching a grown man fall to pieces. Sarah could barely speak, barely move – unable to disturb the moment that almost seemed sacred as she watched a man mourn his wife, who, though was not dead yet, might as well have been.

From where she stood, it looked more like Candace was holding Jenner up. His head was bowed, resting on her collar-bone. Her free arm – the one that wasn't bleeding profusely – was resting on his shoulder, her hand playing with the hair on the nape of his neck.

"You'll be fine with out me," she whispered. "You and Sarah. You can do it – you can find the cure. With out me."

"But you weren't supposed to," he choked out. "Not you."

"I know," she murmured soothingly. "I know. But it'll help research. You can use my body for research."

"No!"

"Ed, listen to me. You can do this."

Jenner straightened, gripping his wife's shoulders as he seemed to visibly attempt to collect himself. "Why did this happen to you? What happened to make him turn?"

Candace shrugged, looking towards Sarah for the first time. "Sarah?"

"I don't know," Sarah said, frustrated. She looked down at her hands, at the blood that caked them. "The vaccine uses a weakened live form of the virus. I aged it – altered its growth conditions. The organism in the vaccine shouldn't have been enough to turn him into a walker…it should have been successful. The virus should have multiplied in the blood stream - the - the body would be able to produce the right antibodies and create a large enough immune response to destroy the pathogen." She looked up at Jenner, trying desperately to justify the vaccine. "The organism in the vaccine was too weak to have been enough to turn him into a walker – at least, not _that _quickly."

Something in Candace's eyes sparked. "Unless –"

"-unless there was some of the disease in the blood stream already that the weakened organism in the vaccine only added to." Jenner said for her, his eyes widening. "The vaccine would have acted like a walker bite – just adding enough more of the organism into the body to trigger the change…and…and because we injected the vaccine directly _into _the blood stream, it happened more quickly than if it had just been a normal bite."

Sarah froze. "But that means…" she was quiet for a second, before lashing out – kicking the smaller table so that it smashed into the wall. "_Son of a bitch!_" she screamed. "A vaccine's impossible – if we're all already infected it'll never work! We'll never find a cure!"

"Sarah, we might," said Candace, trying to calm her down – though Jenner looked equally dubious. "We just need more _time_."

"_Time_?!" Sarah yelled. "Time? We don't have time, Candace. _Look at you_! You're going to –"

"Hanngian," Jenner interrupted, sharply.

Sarah stopped as abruptly as she had started, and passed a shaking hand over her eyes – unknowingly smearing the skin her fingers came into contact with with blood. Then her gaze landed on Candace, who was gripping her husband's arm tightly. "I…I'm sorry, Candace, I didn't…"

"Mean it?" the other woman asked, somewhat bitterly. "Honey, you can't give up at the first sign of things going bad. You wouldn't give up if this were any other experiment."

"But you're not an experiment," Sarah snapped, disgust evident in her voice. "You're a _person_."

Candace shook her head. "_I'm_ collateral damage."

Day 5

In the nightmarish hours that followed the angel who saved Dr. Edwin Jenner wore a white lab coat and had her blonde hair secured in a knot at the back of her head by a pencil. Sarah was forced to take over in situations where Jenner simply broke down. She was the one who set up a quarantine room for Candace to be temporarily locked in until she died, hooked up the camera and video equipment so that it was wired to the computer in her office. She was also the one who set up brain scans and was the one who took the blood, brain matter and bone marrow samples, analysed them, and then returned minutes later to extract more from Candace's ailing body.

After a while, when Sarah had done all she could, she returned to her office to see Jenner staring at the computer screen – at the CCT V footage of his wife lying in a cell.

Not sure whether to leave him be or not, she hovered in the doorway, torn. As it was, Jenner addressed her with out glancing away from the screen. In fact, Sarah wasn't sure whether he was really talking to her at all – or just reminding himself of better times.

"When it was my twenty-eighth birthday, we'd been dating for two years." He said. "I ruined it. She'd been planning a surprise party for me and I came home from work early because I wanted to take her out for dinner. And there she was – letting all my old friends and family into the house. Christ, that was amazing. She actually convinced people I hadn't seen in years – college buddies who lived in California to come half way across the county."

He looked up at Sarah. She was surprised that there weren't any tears – his face just seemed strangely blank. "I think it was half way through the party that I realized _how _in love with her I was. I came into the kitchen to get another beer and she was stirring this big log of chop meat into a pot – I think she was attempting to make chilli, she'd never really been good at cooking. She smiled at me with all the steam curling her hair round her face." Jenner laughed, hoarsely. "She was a vegetarian, but here she was grinning over this pot of meat like it was the greatest thing in the world because she wanted to make my favorite meal for my birthday."

Sarah felt tears harden the lining of her throat painfully. "I'm so, so sorry, Ed. If we'd just held the vaccine back-"

He waved her off. "S'not your fault."

"But it _feels _like it is," she whispered, shivering as she leant heavily on the door-frame. "People _died_. Candace is _dieing_ because of the vaccine that _I_ created, and I know that I was just trying to make things right, but every time I think about it, I think about how I could have done better, and how I could have fixed it _better_ –"

"You may have developed the cure, Hannigan, but you didn't make that call to test it-"

"- I know that, but –"

"But nothing." Jenner interrupted, somewhat aggressively. "Your hand was forced – people were scared and wanted a solution then and there, they wanted that vaccine _now_. I sure as hell don't know you _well_, but I do know you enough to know that - had you had it your way - you would have tested that thing a thousand times over. Double and triple checked to make sure it was totally safe."

Sarah knew he was right. By nature she was precise and over-analytical, but Jenner's words did little to alleviate the guilt she was feeling. "But there was no time to run the tests," she murmured.

"Right. And now we're going to have all the time that this world has left to make that cure." He glanced back at the computer and took a long look at the image of his wife on there. "You're not going to die in vain," he promised, quietly.

* * *

Sarah left the office a little while later, leaving Ed with strict instructions to call for her if Candace's condition dipped.

Making her way down the corridors of the CDC, she was haunted by how deserted they seemed. The once bustling rooms filled with people and activity were now empty, and the hairs on the back of her neck began to rise. _Where _was_ everyone_?

She stopped walking, and – for the first time since she'd arrived at the CDC in Atlanta – began to feel truly claustrophobic. The corridor stretched out before her in a blur of white tiles and glaring, artificial light, and she began to feel dizzy.

"Hello?" she yelled, her voice echoing. "Is anyone there?"

Sarah's heart began to beat faster when there was no answer. She started to walk again. Fear moved a person like nothing else could, and every now and then she'd seem to be on the verge of breaking into a run, before seemingly changing her mind and stumbling back into a hurried lope. "Hello?" she called again. "Can anyone hear me? _Hello_?"

And this time, when the echoes of her own voice died down, she could hear something: yells and shouts that seemed to be emitting from the cafeteria. Sarah realized that she hadn't seen anyone since that morning and her and Jenner had been confined to a small section of the CDC as they carried out tests on Candice.

There was every possibility that the walkers had infiltrated the complex, and she hadn't known a thing.

Mind racing, she slammed her elbow into the case that was mounted on the wall next to her, breaking the glass front. Inside it were the basic fire-emergency tools: a fire-extinguisher, hose and an ax.

She grabbed the latter – swearing when her arms almost popped out of their sockets at its weight – and started towards the room the noise seemed to be coming from.

It was not like in the movies, a slam dunk – a scene for the hero to go win their Oscar. If Sarah got in there, and there were walkers…if her life was threatened…if people were dying and the dead outnumbered the living…she would back away. She would go and find Jenner in their secluded corner of the CDC – figure out a way to escape. There were _always_ safer, more practical options than the ones you chose, and if things went bad, the knowledge that she had a back-up escape plan was comforting.

Sarah took a deep breath, readjusted her grip on the ax, and shouldered open the door slowly. Peering through the tiny sliver of space she could see people crowding around a table in the centre of the room, and – though the general atmosphere was that of panic and confusion – there wasn't the same presence of fear that would have been had walkers also stood in the room.

She wilted slightly, the ax hanging limply from her fingers. She was still safe.

Standing on the table that everyone seemed to be crowding around was a harassed looking army official, who was addressing the crowd of CDC scientists and doctors that had gathered round him.

Only half listening, Sarah made her way over to the only person she knew in the room.

Alex Ramm stood at the back of the group, leaning against the wall with a frown on his face. He was tall, with curly black hair and grey eyes and stood out because he was just about the only person in the room who wasn't wearing a white lab coat. Ramm was some kind of computer genius – a defense co-ordinator for the CDC – and, appearance aside (he was wearing a black t shirt with the words '_there are 10 types of people in this world. Those that understand binary, and those that don't' _emblazoned across the front and a pair of ratty, faded jeans) he took his job seriously.

When he glanced up to see Sarah approaching him, Alex had wondered if she knew that she had blood smeared across part of her face, of that she looked like she'd been through hell and back since he'd last spoken to her the night before.

"What's going on?" Sarah said, as she approached Ramm. "I heard the noise…thought there were walkers."

_So you brought an ax_, Alex thought, but didn't say it aloud. When Sarah glanced up at him, silently prodding for an explanation, he shook his head and scoffed. "I built you a better defense system than that, Hannigan. No walkers are getting in here." He folded his arms and jutted his chin in the direction of the soldier and the group surrounding him. "He wants us to evacuate the CDC. Top-side's not looking too good. Apparently it's not the holiday destination we all thought it was."

"_Evacuate_?" Sarah echoed, eyes widening. The tone to her voice was incredulous, and Alex's head snapped towards her.

"You don't want to?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sarah responded with something, but her voice was dwarfed by the officer who stood on the table suddenly roaring over the crowd: "This is your _only _chance to evacuate, people! Once we're gone, I assure you that we're sure as hell _not_ gonna be coming back to save your asses. The situation above ground's only getting worse - Atlanta's lost and so are other cities in the Southern States. From here we go North."

"What about if we want to stay?" shouted one woman.

"That's up to you. 'Reckon we can spare some ammo and guns for those who wanna remain behind – but that's it."

The crowd – for the first time – quietened completely as everyone swallowed the information.

"We're leaving in ten minutes," yelled the soldier, his voice echoing ominously through-out the suddenly silent room. "We've got vehicles at the entrance and men watching the main road out of the city. Gather your belongings if you want to come. If not…well…good luck."

Sarah exhaled, rubbing a hand across her forehead as the soldier jumped down from the table.

"What are you thinking?" asked Alex.

"Honestly," she murmured, lifting her face to his. "I'm not sure what the hell I'm thinking right now…but…maybe it wouldn't be so bad to remain here."

"You wanna stay?" Ramm asked, his voice so tight it might snap, his expression one of disbelief. "Seriously, Sarah?"

"What?" she replied, frustrated. "I want to find a cure – you're acting like that's a bad thing?"

"No. I'm acting like it's a stupid thing." He grabbed her arm, leading her out of the cafeteria and further down the corridor. "I heard about what happened with the vaccine trials this morning. Jenner's wife got bit. It was a disaster."

"That doesn't mean it isn't going to work every time! We just…we just keep on developing until we get it right!"

"And you think you have all the time in the world to do this, huh? How much time do you reckon the world has left, Sarah? Years? Months? Weeks?"

"I don't know!" she yelled in frustration, throwing her hands up into the air. "We have food, right? The guy says he's going to give us guns. You said yourself that walkers couldn't get in -"

Alex closed his eyes. "Dammit, Sarah, shut up." He turned away for a second, running a hand through his hair before spinning to face her again, speaking low and rapidly. "Listen to me, I programmed the CDC's defensive system. There's a ton of stuff in here that we don't want to get out – you know that. Diseases and shit that'll fuck humanity over even more than it already is. The generators have got to run out of power at some point, and when that happens a facility wide decontamination has to occur in order to stop those diseases here from getting out. You can't stay here – its suicide."

Sarah looked at him for several seconds before she blinked rapidly, her mouth dropping open. "_Facility wide decontamination_? You mean the CDC'll _blow up_?!"

Alex's jaw locked as he nodded. "You've got to come with me. We've got to evacuate. I know there's no chance in hell that Jenner's going to leave his wife, but _you_…"

The desperation in his voice made Sarah bite her lip. She was so _tired_. She was exhausted, and didn't have the energy to justify her actions to Ramm, to explain why she just _couldn't_. "Alex, I _can't_…"

He grabbed her by the shoulders. "For Gods sake, you're going to die if you stay, Sarah!"

"I know. I'm not giving up though –"

"It sure as fuck sounds like you are."

"-no, I'm _not_. I'm fighting. I'm _going _to find this cure. I can keep in touch with you through the computers, feed information through."

"That's not good enough." Alex said, stubbornly.

Sarah never took her eyes off of him as she said, quietly: "Isn't it, though? Staying and _trying_ to find a cure for this thing is good enough for _me_, Alex. And when it comes down to it, that's what counts." When he attempted to butt in, she held up a hand. "You're not going to convince me otherwise," she said in a business-like tone of voice as she untwisted her hair out of its bun and let it fall in loose waves round her face. "and you're running out of time. Go and get your stuff and I'll come top-side with you to say goodbye."

The determined set of her jaw told him not to argue.

* * *

As it turned out thirty of the thirty eight people who occupied and worked at the CDC had chosen to leave. The number shouldn't have surprised Sarah – the decision to leave wasn't exactly a _selfish _one – but it did. Had she thought that more people would be dedicated to the cause? That a few files of research and a lab that ran on rapidly failing power would be more of a draw than a worry for families and friends who lived in other parts of the country? She didn't know what she had expected, but the number of evacuees suddenly seemed to make the situation more real.

They were all crammed into a lift, the confined space so quiet that Sarah could hear her own pulse. She could feel herself rising through the meters of ground that she'd been underneath for almost two weeks. The fact that she hadn't been outside at all in that time shouldn't have bothered her as much as it did, and Sarah found herself wandering just how much the world she was about to see had changed from the world she once knew.

She didn't look up at Alex who stood beside her as the lift doors opened, just toted one of his bags that she had offered to carry over her shoulder and stepped out into the foyer.

The army seemed to be everywhere, swarming round the open area with deadly looking guns and worn expressions on their faces. Several crates of supplies were stacked against one wall of the room, and the opposite wall was completely taken up by a large, open door.

Upon approaching it, Sarah stopped in her tracks, suddenly too apprehensive to take the next step forward. Alex carried on walking a little way before he realized that she wasn't walking with him and turned to look at the blonde scientist. Sarah was standing with a hand in front of her eyes to ward off the light that was seeping in through the open door. When Alex raised an eyebrow questioningly, she said in a small voice: "I haven't been outside in a really, _really _long time. I don't know if my eyes can adjust to natural light."

"Control made us go above ground for at least and hour every three days to make sure that that wouldn't happen."

"I skipped," she said, dryly. "Candace and I thought we'd had a break-through with the vaccine."

Alex rolled his eyes, and muttered something that sounded like _of course you did_, before walking back to her. "Just stand in my shadow, okay? It's not that bad."

She sighed, squinting against the feeble sunlight before taking a hesitant step forward. "Am I even going to want to see what's out there?"

"Probably not," he acquiesced, "But I was kind of thinking you at least owed it to me to come out and say goodbye."

Taking slow steps, the two made it out the door and into the open world. For a second, Sarah was able to appreciate the air on her skin – not recycled air – but a real, crisp, _fresh_ breeze. It played with her hair, blowing it out of her face before her eyes registered what they were seeing.

Atlanta sprawled out, utterly barren before her – a far cry from the busy, bustling city her plane had landed in weeks ago. There was the low hum of the engines of army jeeps pulled up close to the CDC, strategically parked to avoid the bodies of fallen walkers. And the 'dead' walkers were everywhere – the bodies sprawled on the sidewalk, piled in heeps, caught in the barbed wire that ran along one length of the courtyard, and – if you looked closely – the live ones were moving slowly around in the distance, just out of range of the soldiers' snipers.

A man in military uniform, who stood a little off to Sarah's right, caught the look of shock on her face. He exhaled a pillar of smoke and folded his arms, carefully keeping the lit cigarette that he was smoking away from his body. "Fucking depressing, isn't it?" he said to her, before he too glanced at the deserted buildings in the distance.

Sarah started, looking round for the speaker quickly and – upon spotting them - shook her head. "I guess I didn't realize things had gotten so bad."

The man rolled his eyes, taking another drag of his cigarette. "'Course you didn't – you were all tucked up safely underground, weren't you? Didn't see a _thing _of the panic of the first out-break."

"We were 'tucked up underground' searching for a _cure_ to save _you_," she replied, stung - disliking the bitterness evident in his voice.

"Yeah, I heard that's not going so great." He dropped his cigarette on the floor and stepped on it before turning to face her fully. "I heard about Jace Shephard," he said, flatly. "I'm David Shephard. His brother."

The full meaning of David Shephard's words hit Sarah like a slap to the face and she stumbled backwards slightly.

"Oh God," she said.

Bile rose in her throat. If she looked closely, she saw that David's eyes were the same shape as Jace's - maybe the look in them less kind - his hardened by anger - but still definitely the same shape. There was a certain similarity in the mouth too, and in the shade of brown of his hair.

"Oh God," she repeated.

…

"_I make an adorable lab-rat, huh Doc?_

…_._

"_What's your name?"_

"_Jace Shephard,"_

…_._

"_Kill it! Sarah, kill it!" _

…

And for the first time, staring into his brother's accusing eyes, Sarah didn't think about Jace as a volunteer for a vaccine trial, or a patient, or a walker; she suddenly realized that he had been a person, with a family like anyone else.

And she had driven a scalpel through his head.

Twice.

She struggled to keep the contents of her stomach down.

"You're the brilliant Dr. Sarah Hannigan, right?" David asked, still talking. "I seriously hope you find that cure. I really do. Because there's going to be hell to pay if your vaccine trial _murdered _my little brother for no point."

And with that, David turned on his heel and stalked away over towards a few of the soldiers who were guarding the CDC's furthest perimeter.

Sarah watched him go, relieved. She'd killed a man, and didn't have the strength to face the consequences of his brother's anger – what did _that _say about her?

"The sun still hurting your eyes?" asked a voice. When she glanced behind her, she saw Alex walking from a jeep towards the spot she stood at.

"What?"

"Your eyes are watering," he frowned. "Maybe you should go back inside where it's darker."

Sarah quietly thanked God that Alex Ramm was perhaps one of _the _most unobservant males to walk the planet and nodded her head. "Maybe I should."

With a final glance at David, she let her friend guide her back into the foyer.

There was an unexpected comfort to being back inside the CDC. The foyer was almost empty of soldiers – a sure sign that Alex had minutes until he was due to leave – and the harshness and pain of seeing Atlanta so _dead _before her was muted standing safely within the walls of the complex.

Maybe it was a defense mechanism, but the moment Alex opened his mouth to say goodbye, Sarah threw her arms round his neck and hugged him (difficult, considering he was so damn tall.)

Alex stumbled backwards slightly from the force of her hug before recuperating it just as powerfully. "You're going to find that cure," he muttered into her hair. "If anyone can do it, it's you Sarah."

Sarah didn't reply. She felt like her throat had been paved with straw. "Thank you," she croaked, finally.

"For what?"

"For not asking me to leave with you again." Because she was so emotionally weak, that if he'd asked, she would have probably accepted. She would have left Jenner, and Candace and the whole exhausting situation. Just left it for someone else to sort out.

"_Leaving in TWO MINUTES!" _a voice yelled from outside.

Alex stepped out of the hug, and to Sarah's surprise, he was grinning. "It's not all that bad, Sar. I left you a present."

She frowned. "What?"

"Go to the control room – open the file marked _artificial intelligence._ The password's _54357_. After that, just type in _ACTIVATE_."

At the confused look on Sarah's face, he just shook his head, still smiling. "Trust me. You'll love it."

Day 6

"Where the hell are you taking me Hannigan?" asked Jenner, as Sarah dragged him down another corridor. She ignored him.

"The Control Room is level two, right?"

"Yes, but –"

She pulled him into a lift quickly, ramming her fist against the button for number 2 and effectively silencing Jenner.

"Stop asking questions," she said. "It's a surprise."

"Do _you _even know what Ramm was developing whilst he was here?"

"No idea," said Sarah, distractedly. Hope, for the first time, was pushing through her veins like a heart beat. Hope that Alex had left them something that would help in their journey to find a cure. Hope that she'd made the right decision in staying. "But I trust Alex."

Jenner muttered something under his breath that Sarah didn't quite catch and then the lift doors slid open with a metallic scraping sound and the pair stepped out.

When Sarah hesitated, Jenner rolled his eyes, turning right. "The Control Room's this way."

Control, as it turned out, was a large open space – much like the Foyer. A dozen computer workstations faced the thirty-foot by forty-foot video wall at the far end of the room. The eight other remaining scientists and doctors were nowhere to be seen. The control room was located 200 feet below ground, where it would be totally impervious to flux bombs and nuclear blasts – another one of the many safety precautions to ensure that the dangerous diseases and viruses did not get out of the CDC.

Sarah rushed over to one of the computers, pulling her hair back into a ponytail as she did so.

"Sarah, why did Ramm want you to come to the Control Room? How the hell is that going to help us find a cure?" demanded Jenner as he watched the blonde scientist boot up the computer.

"Shut up, Ed," Sarah snapped, as she squinted at the screen. "_Artificial intelligence_," she whispered to herself, as she moved the cursor around the screen. "_Artificial intelligence_ – there." She clicked on the file and instantly a error message appeared.

CLASSIFIED. PASSWORD VERIFICATION REQUIRED.

"Jesus," whispered Jenner, crouching down next to Sarah to look at the screen. "What was Ramm doing here that was _classified_?"

"Programming the CDC's defensive system," Sarah replied, her palms sweating.

"You got the password?"

She glanced at Jenner out of the corner of her eye for a second before nodding. Hands shaking slightly, Sarah's fingers moved over the keyboard in front of her.

_54357. _

They held their breath as another message box appeared.

ACTIVATE ARTIFICIAL INTELLIFENCE SYSTEM?

"Listen, Hannigan, I really don't think this is a good –"

But Sarah's fingers were already flying over the keyboard. Underneath the message she'd typed in the words _ACTIVATE_, and – mind strangely blank with the blind faith she was now placing in Alex Ramm, and completely disregarding the voice of Jenner in her ear – Sarah pressed the enter key like it was the trigger to a bomb.

The room was suddenly filled with a computerized female voice, and Jenner and Sarah scrambled to their feet in shock.

"_Artificial intelligence system, activated,_" said the voice. "_Backing-up data._"

"What is this thing," Sarah said, her eyes wide.

"_Vi is an artificial intelligence computer," _the system replied._ "It has been programmed to aid the CDC. It can gather and store data on all diseases, experiments and research through out the building. It is in charge of all defensive systems and power._"

The pair were quiet for a second, before a grin split Sarah's face. "Alex you _genius_," she whispered.

* * *

**A/N.** I hope this did a good job at explaining how Jenner's wife turned, Vi and how Jenner knew (or at least, first guessed that) everybody was infected. Sarah should meet Rick and the others next chapter, so…

Remember to review!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N **Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! The amount of research I have to do for this fic is ridiculous: time-line's, medical and scientific facts (and trust me, I'm not the best at science) and _a ton _of other stuff on vaccines. So to bluecrush611, who asked me whether I had any knowledge in this field, I most definitely do not!

I hope you all enjoy this next chapter.

Story **Rated T **for graphic violence, swearing and mild sexual situations.

* * *

**CHAPTER 2**

* * *

"_It's nice to see that you've all bonded through this disaster."_

_-Dawn of the Dead (2004)_

* * *

Day 7

In 24 hours, Jenner utterly transformed from the man Sarah once knew. She had watched silently as the weight of his own hope forced him to collapse in on himself; waking several times through out the night to find him – face lit with the glow of the computer monitor – tracing the figure of his wife on the screen with a finger. The closest he would ever get to touching her again.

Jenner had always seemed slightly aggressive in his belief for a better world since the out-break, and she had always half-expected that such an intense fire would burn out so quickly. What Sarah hadn't expected was the bitter taste the loss of Jenner's conviction would leave in her mouth, the pressure that was then put on _her _shoulders to stay hopeful, and keep the moral of the remaining scientists up.

Though_ that _part was deceptively easy – literally.

She lied. Or, at least, she _implied. _

She let the other scientists think that a cure to the disease was just within reach, instead of facing the reality: which was that – after the failed test run of vaccine R5 01 – Sarah's faith in the idea that theycould create a vaccine was severely shaken. She knew it was _possible_ to create a cure – after the dead began to walk, she didn't believe in impossibilities anymore - but Sarah wasn't sure if humanity had progressed enough in medical research or technology for a vaccine to defeat this thing ever to exist in _her _life-time.

And maybe it was that unwavering belief – that a cure _was _out there, no matter how difficult it would be to create – and the ability that had spouted from her job as a scientist just to see the cold facts, as if she were examining different events through a microscope – examining them each analytically and extensively with ease, with out any kind of emotional attachment – that meant that Sarah was the best choice for leading the small group of CDC scientists.

Well, maybe not _the_ best choice.

Candice's condition had taken an unexpected dip over-night, and Sarah was standing in the foyer with the bag of ammo and guns that the soldiers had left for them, staring into empty space. She wasn't sure what she was doing with the guns – she sure as fuck knew what it _looked _like she was doing – with her turning a gun about in her fingertips. A pistol. Black. Surprisingly heavy. But she wasn't opting out.

She _wasn't_.

Or maybe she _couldn't _– she had no idea how to shoot the thing in her hands, but that was beside the point. The mechanics, if she were driven enough, she would figure out soon enough. Granted, she probably wouldn't be able to aim too well, but with the gun pressed firmly to her temple, there wasn't much of a chance that even an amateur like her would miss the target.

It was the fact that she'd grown up her whole life thinking that she would have a life-time to settle down, find a house, get married, have kids, that meant she couldn't pull the trigger of the gun she was turning in her hands. Her life-time was now spanning before her in weeks? Months? Years? And yet _still_ some small part of her felt entitled to that life, and she'd be damned if she didn't survive long enough to at least have a shot at it.

That determination didn't cancel out the fact that Sarah was scared as hell though. Candice was _dying_, and – like Jenner had said – she wasn't supposed to. No one was _supposed to_. And it was so, so unfair that it had been her vaccine that had triggered Jace Shephard to change – that had killed him, that had caused Candace to get bitten, that had caused Edwin Jenner to lose his wife and that had caused David Shephard to lose his brother.

Thinking about that moment with Candace in the corridor, with the words _now or never _echoing through her skull, and adrenaline sparking through her veins was weird. Sarah had had no idea at that point of the repercussions her decision to test the vaccine would have. The whole situation hadn't fully registered to her then because – like David had said, she'd been 'holed up underground': she hadn't seen a thing of the horrors of the first out break. Jace changing, tip toeing down a deserted corridor wielding an ax, seeing Atlanta, and watching Candace slowly die through a computer – those had all been experiences that had come with time, eased her into the idea of the dead walking.

_Candace._ The thought of her made the gun slip through Sarah's fingertips and it clattered to the floor. Finally, _finally _her brain had looped back to the real reason why she was hiding up in the foyer: the trauma of repeat extractions of grey matter from Candace's brain had caused it to be severely damaged; she was dying – so that kind of thing shouldn't really matter anymore – but the fact that something as horrific as brain damage had occurred to Candace in the name of 'scientific research' made Sarah feel slightly sick. Final moments were supposed to be peaceful, and yet, every few minutes for almost three days straight they'd slowly been purging Candace's body of blood and different tissues.

No wonder Jenner was so broken. Each time they moved in for more blood samples, or the like, it probably killed him a little inside.

Sarah could only imagine what it felt like. She didn't have a husband – she hadn't had a boyfriend in over a year, and her other relationships…well, her other relationships usually ended in arson.

Her father had died whilst mowing the lawn one day and her mother never really managed to heal from the shock of it – dieing seven years later.

It was Sarah's older brother, Chris, who had looked after her: who had picked up the slack, made sure she'd done her homework and filled out college applications and told her to dream big. Her older brother was her only living relative left, and it had only occurred to Sarah last night that Chris might not be entirely safe in Boston. The last piece of news that had come through from the government was that the disease had spread past the Southern State borders and up north and in her panic, Sarah had wasted some of their precious power supply trying to use the phone to contact her brother.

At first she'd expected static, but then a voice had spoken down the line. "Hello?"

He was almost thirty six – seven years her senior – with a wife called Sisi or Bitsy or something equally ridiculous that Sarah deliberately didn't attempt to remember. He had two adorable kids – her niece and nephew.

Chris was the only person she had been able to run to when she first got her period (an embarrassing moment for both of them); he was the one who had beaten the crap out of the first guy who had broken her heart and he was the one she'd crawl into bed with at night when she couldn't quite remember the exact shade of their Dad's eyes. Above all, he was her best-friend.

"Chris…its Sarah."

"_Sarah_? Jesus Christ! I thought you were –" The phone line had crackled for a second – static filled with the heavy silence of the unspoken word he hadn't wanted to say and Sarah hadn't wanted to hear.

"I know."

"Sar, you need to get out of there – they're saying that nowhere South is safe anymore. Get back to Boston – you can stay at ours. Then we're going to try and get across to Europe."

Chris had been there to tell her _I told you so _the first – and last time – she'd tried a cigarette and almost hacked up a lung in the process. He'd been there to teach her how to drive in their old Chevy, and was there six years later to drive her to her first job interview.

And, blinking back tears and thinking of Alex Ramm, who Sarah had told to leave with out her, the promise she'd made herself to find the cure, and Vi, Sarah had shaken her head.

"It's too late for that now, Chris."

Silence.

"I'll see you soon, okay? I'll be fine."

But what she'd really meant to say was: _I'm sorry. I love you. _

* * *

"Ed?"

"Yeah?"

"You see what I'm saying?"

"…what?"

"We can't just put a bullet through her head the moment she turns – there's too much potential for research there…I know this is hard, but…"

Sarah's gut twisted as she saw Jenner's face go very, very pale. They were two of eight scientists that stood in Sarah's office. All of them had been watching Candace in the throws of what were potentially the very last minutes of her life through the computer screen, and Sarah had drawn Jenner away from the group to a secluded corner of the room.

"What the _fuck _are you saying, Hannigan?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"When Candace turns…if she stays in that room as a walker there's a potential to examine her behavior, learn from her. I know –"

"No you _don't _know!" snarled Jenner, attempting to turn and walk away. But Sarah grabbed his arm.

"Ed –"

"_Don't_," he snarled, and she honestly thought he was going to hit her. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, and Sarah's mind flashed back to when Candace had first been bit – how Jenner had almost ripped the doors off their hinges trying to get to her.

"Ed," Sarah said again, hating the words that came out of her mouth. "You need to let her go. You're being selfish."

He ran a shaking hand through his hair. "No, Sarah, _you _are – what makes you think that you're going to find a cure, huh? What makes you think you can force my wife to suffer as she has for something that doesn't exist?"

"I'm not giving up hope," Sarah insisted. "We can make this better! I know we can."

"Don't give me all that hope bullshit," Jenner snapped. "I saw you in the foyer with that gun; you have just as much _hope _as the rest of us here: zero! None! And I'd rather _die_ than see you damage more people for your fucking hope."

Sarah crossed her arms. "So, how do you wanna do this? Do you want me to go grab a gun and I'll blow off the back of your head? Or I can put my hands round your throat and shake you until your neck snaps. Because I'm going to do this – I'm not wasting any opportunities." She knew that she was being crude – but she wanted to shock him back into reality. "I hate doing this to Candace – it kills _me _too. But this disease somehow bypasses every biological form of defense that humanity has – people don't stand a chance at survival unless we create a vaccine!"

"And you think that keeping my wife locked up in some room will help you get closer to finding that cure?"

"She won't be your wife anymore!" Sarah shouted in frustration. "She'll just be a creature that only sees you as food and something to kill – just like Jace Shephard!"

Suddenly Jenner tore his arm from her grip and smashed his fist into the wall above her head. Sarah started badly – partly because of how close his hand had been to her face, and partly at the sound of bones cracking. "If you think I'm going to stand by and let you –"

"I don't need you to support me on this," she interrupted. "I just wanted you to know that you _can't _kill her – not yet. Just…think about the future."

"The future?" Jenner sneered, using his other hand to grip Sarah's arm so tightly she almost cried out. "What about Candace's future? That doesn't matter?"

"Candace's future was gone the moment she was bitten," Sarah whispered, her voice cracking. "And I'm sorry if that idea's still difficult to adjust to after three days, but you're going to have to get over it in the next few minutes. She's gone. In a few moments she's going to be a walker." Tears sprung to Sarah's eyes – whether they were from the pain of his grip or just her general guilt at the words she had spoken to him, she wasn't sure. She tilted her chin upwards a fraction of an inch. _Stay strong._ "Now let me go, please."

Jenner stared at her for a moment before relaxing his grasp on her arm enough for her to pull away. When she turned to face the room, she noticed a few of the other scientists in the room hastily divert their eyes from her direction.

…_you have just as much hope as the rest of us here: zero!..._

Jenner's words echoed in her head as she regarded the six other scientists. Had they given up too?

Attempting to compose herself, Sarah strode over to the group. "How's she doing?" she asked, in a business-like voice.

"Not good," replied the only other female in the room, who sat at a chair directly facing the computer which displayed the CCTV footage of Candace. She was impeccably dressed in a carefully ironed white lab coat, under which she had donned a black, turtle-neck sweater and skirt. She seemed to be in her early forties or late thirties and – if pressed – Sarah might have been able to remember her name was Roxanne. The woman glanced at Jenner, who still stood, brooding at the corner of the room. "She's not going to last much longer."

Sarah nodded. "Okay." She said. "Okay….make sure that the room's doubly secure in preparation for her turn. I want a detailed MRI scan the moment she's a walker – I want to know what the fuck happens to these things' brain's to cause them to come back from the dead."

They had no idea how contagious Candace was, so the world was forced to keep its distance from her. For that reason, the two men that agreed to double-check the security of the quarantine room looked like spacemen. Sarah watched on the screen as they walked into the room, gowned and masked. Candace lay in the corner of the room on a bed – her fever so high that she no longer recognized reality, not realizing there were other people in the room. The men checked the doors; the security of the walls to ensure that she couldn't escape. When they were finished, the gowns they wore were burnt, leaving an acrid smell in the corridors and a bad taste in Sarah's mouth.

She kept on trying to remind herself that this had to be done, but then Candace's screaming had started and, closing her eyes, Sarah had switched the volume of the computer down, turned away from the image on screen.

This was it.

Candace was dieing.

Sarah stood up on shaky legs and walked over to sit on a chair across from Jenner. "I wish I'd gotten to know her better."

He shook his head. "Don't do that."

"She was an amazing, beautiful person…"

"She _is_. She _is _beautiful. She _is _amazing. She's still here, she-"

Sarah felt cold. She glanced at the screen, at the monitor that was recording a failing heart beat. "Jenner," she said. "You need to say goodbye."

"No…"

"You'll regret it if you don't," Sarah insisted, grabbing his hand and pulling him to a standing position. "Come on."

Upon touching his hand, Sarah felt an uncontrollable wave of grief, as if skin-to-skin contact had opened the lines of the current. She dragged him out of the room, a little way down a corridor until they stood in front of a door that had a small window cut into it – just big enough for them to see Candace within.

Sarah's fingers tightened around Jenner's when she felt him begin to shake. Somehow, she knew he didn't have the strength to say the words that needed to be said, that she would have to become his mouthpiece, so she whispered: "You were right…we couldn't…we couldn't give up at the first sign of things going bad. We're still trying to find a cure. And –" Sarah's breathing became labored as she tried to fight away tears. Through the window, she could see Candace. She'd stopped thrashing about now, just lay strangely still – as if she were listening to what was being said, when, really, Sarah knew that she wouldn't have been able to hear a thing through the inches of concrete wall. It was a nice thought though. That the last thing she would hear would be Sarah's voice. "-you were – were – so brave. You were so strong and – and –"

Her voice hitched.

"I'm so sorry. I know I say that a lot, but I am. It shouldn't have been you. It shouldn't be anyone, but most of all it shouldn't be you. I'm sorry."

And from somewhere down the corridor, from her office that they had just come from, the pair of them heard a sound.

It was faint, and to begin with Sarah thought it was just the echo of a memory of Jace Shephard, occurring in her head. But then Jenner slipped to his knees, and Sarah realized it was the faint sound of a heart monitor flat-lining. She swallowed heavily.

"Bye, Candace."

* * *

The waiting was the worst.

The not knowing when it was going to occur.

Not knowing when Candace was going to wake up again.

They waited. And waited.

They waited for two hours, one minute and seven seconds.

And then they didn't have to wait anymore.

* * *

Sarah sat at a desk with her head in her hands, her fingers threaded through her blonde hair; her brown eyes squeezed tight shut.

_Any minute now _she thought to herself _she's going to wake up. Any minute now_.

The suspense was killing her. She knew that Jenner still was not happy with letting walker-Candace live. That everything about the situation was hurting him. Sarah wondered if it hurt as much having the guy stare you in the eye and tell you he hated you – which was exactly what Jenner had done when she gave the order for a fresh MRI video tape to be found to record the next week of Candace's progress.

He hadn't moved from in front of the computer screen, he just sat and watched his wife's dead, limp form. The other scientists were milling around, unsure of what to do with themselves – some sipping coffee, others simply staring out into space. At one point someone had gone up to the foyer to get the gun bag and all the hairs on the back of Sarah's neck had stood on end when they'd dumped it in the corner of the room. For a while, she hadn't been able to take her eyes off of the large black canvas bag. They were so close. Jenner could decide he just wanted to give up, reach out, take a gun. The other scientist's could, too.

A part of her wanted the guns locked up in a room somewhere where no one could touch them, but then another part of her realized that she didn't have the right to take that choice away from them.

Sarah sighed, kneading her forehead with the heel of one hand. She hadn't always been like this. Normally, she was the shy one. She didn't strike up conversations with people standing behind her in the grocery line, was never the life and soul of the party, but she had surprised even herself. Who knew that just sticking her in an apocalyptic setting meant that she was better, stronger? She kind of wished that it hadn't taken the world ending to find that part of her, but there it was.

"Dr. Hannigan?" Sarah glanced up to see Roxanne hovering beside her.

"Yeah?"

"The MRI scans are starting to show brain activity. She'll be reanimating soon."

When Roxanne started to walk away, Sarah called out softly to stop her, making the woman turn back to face her. "Do you agree with what I'm doing?" she asked.

"What do you mean?

"I mean…my decision to not mercy-shoot Candace – do you – do you agree with that?"

"It's your call. You're leading this."

Sarah rolled her eyes in frustration. "No, just _think _about what I'm asking here. To keep Candace alive. Do you agree with that? Or are you just doing all this because you're following me on blind faith?"

Sarah understood, to an extent that when the world went to shit, or when times were hard people looked to someone strong, someone who could promise them a way out for guidance and leadership. You could see it in a pattern through out history – whether it ended for better or worse - but it still irked her that all the other scientists, sans Jenner, weren't questioning her decisions, just assumed she knew best.

She had no idea what the hell she was doing – she could be making all the _wrong _decisions for all she knew.

Roxanne looked uncomfortable, like she didn't want to think too hard over the question. "We need to find the cure, right? I want to do something that could help my family. If you think this could work, than I'm willing to try it too."

Sarah didn't know why that felt like the wrong answer, but she dismissed the feeling. "Right. Thanks."

Roxanne frowned. "I don't know what you're getting at, I –"

"It's nothing. It's fine."

"But-"

Sarah blew out a breath. "Listen, it's nothing – really. Just me thinking too hard over stuff. As usual."

Roxanne nodded, but didn't look convinced. "Well…the brain scans…like I said. You should come."

Sarah stood, following her over to a second computer. "Your family," she said, stopping suddenly. "Are they safe?"

Roxanne spun around once again to face her, looking confused.

"I think so…we live in England – I haven't heard that things are as bad _there _as they are _here_. My husband's based in a research facility just outside of Bristol." Sarah nodded impatiently, as Roxanne gave her some kind of encouraging smile. "So we're not the only ones searching for a cure."

But that hadn't exactly been what Sarah was thinking. Everyone knew that researchers in the same field typically didn't collaborate: they competed. This was because the researcher who made the break through in finding a vaccine to cure a disease or the like got rewarded. Nobody saw anyone elses research because they were afraid of someone else stealing their ideas. But at the end of the world, the same rules wouldn't apply – people didn't care about that kind of thing anymore. "Would it be possible to get in touch with your husband's research base in England?"

"I think so…why?"

Sarah ignored her. "Vi!" She yelled. "Run a search for CDC research bases world-wide."

"_Running search for CDC research bases," _reported the computer system coolly.

"Roxanne," said Sarah, urgently. "Go up to the Control Room. Once Vi gives you the results of the search I want you to establish some kind of communications line with each base. We need more information on this cure – and someone else might have it."

"But what about Candace?"

"I'll be here with Jenner. It'll be fine - take Zach with you," added Sarah, indicating to the young blonde haired man who stood a little away from them.

Roxanne agreed, and Sarah ran over to the computer that showed Candace's brain scan. Her eyes widened. The scan was showing faint activity around the brain stem – getting stronger with each passing moment.

"Oh my God," she muttered. "It's happening."

"What's happening?" Sarah started, glancing back at Jenner, who was standing behind her with his arms folded.

"It's Candace," she said, carefully. "She's back." Her eyes flickered back to the MRI scan as she gestured to it loosely with one hand. "It's taken around two and a half hours. She's been _dead _for two and a half hours. Somehow the disease managed to re-activate the most basic part of her brain." Sarah's mind was moving into 'scientific-mode', flicking through possibilities so fast that she was barely seeing Jenner in front of her. "There's something about the live brain that means that the virus doesn't work on it – meaning that the virus can only attack when the person is dead and the brain susceptible and defenseless. If…if we can devise some sort of activation immunotherapy – something that'll stimulate the immune system to recognize and destroy the virus when the body's alive…"

She broke off, realizing that Jenner wasn't listening to her. "Ed?" she asked. "Ed?"

He wasn't looking at the computer displaying the image of the brain scan. Or even the computer with the CCTV footage of Candace as her eyes flickered open – dead, and white.

He was clutching a photo frame, a picture of Candace as she had been staring up at him. He was completely still, and when he spoke, the sound was almost unnaturally loud in the quiet of the room. "I loved her," he said clearly. He looked up from the picture, his gaze skewering Sarah. "I loved her so much, and now I need to do one last thing for her: I need to let her go."

Sarah opened her mouth in confusion - about to say something - but then Jenner moved and in that horrible moment, understanding swept through her. He dived for the canvas gun bag, fishing out a small handgun and some ammo.

"Ed! Ed – _no!_" she screamed, running after him as he set off down the corridor. He was so much faster than her, though, and she watched hopelessly as he inserted the magazine into the handgun, loaded the chamber with a telling _click _of the slide.

And it was a moment where the world moved so slowly Sarah could feel her bones shifting as she ran, her mind tumbling in confusion and horror. It was the type of moment where – no matter what happened in the rest of your life – you would always remember every single detail of those few seconds forever. Jenner sprung the lock on the door to the Quarantine room. Kicked open the door.

He lifted the gun as Sarah skidded to a halt behind him, and, knowing it was too late to change anything, she buried her face in the back of his shirt, unwilling to see what would happen next.

She felt the shot more than heard it. The kick of the gun ran like an aftershock through Jenner's body, and then through hers.

She'd expected complete silence after, but instead there was a horrible gurgling sound that made Sarah lift her face from the material of Jenner's top to look inside the room.

Candace – but it wasn't _Candace_, was it?– was lying on the ground, writhing in agony as red pooled from the wound in her chest. Blood began to pour from the things mouth, trickling down its neck, and the liquid would bubble every time the creature let out another pitiful moan.

"The brain," Sarah choked out. "You…you need to destroy the brain."

Jenner didn't reply. Just walked closer, lifted the gun he was holding once more, and shot his wife in the head.

* * *

Roxanne stopped in the middle of her brisk walk as she and Zach made their way to the Control Room.

"Did you hear that?" she asked her eyes wide.

Zach, who was a good twenty years younger than her, not to mention had better cardio and longer legs stopped a considerable distance ahead of her, turned round, and raised an eyebrow at the motherly looking woman. "What cha' say?'

"That…that sounded like a gun shot."

"I didn't hear anythin'," he said, his Southern drawl becoming more pronounced as he frowned.

She shook her head, and the pair fell silent for a second, listening intently. Another shot rang out. When she looked back at Zach, there was a frown on the young mans face. Just a kid, Roxanne thought. He couldn't be more than five or six years older than her eldest – he could only be in his early twenties. "Sounds like they went an' mercy-killed Candace Jenner," he said.

"There was a second shot though…" Roxanne hesitated. "You don't think Jenner shot himself too – do you?"

Zach seemed to think about it before shaking his head. "Sarah Hannigan wouldn' a' let him…they probably…they probably wanted ta make sure that she was properly right an' dead." He swallowed. "Ta be honest with ya, even if Doc shot himself, I wouldn' envy him – I've been lookin' at the CCTV footage of top-side. It's ain't lookin' too pretty out there."

She shook her head, mouth turning down at the corners. "You shouldn't think like that. We've got a cure to develop, families to live for."

Zach snorted at her words, but the sound was with out mirth and his blue eyes were sharp with pain. "Don't mean no disrespect ma'am – but ma Mama and Daddy lived out in Savannah."

Roxanne swallowed. "Oh," she murmured. Savannah had been one of the cities that the military had gone into and just completely wiped out the entire populace in a desperate bid to contain the virus. "I'm sorry."

"T's fine," Zach muttered letting the 'fine' hang before he shook his head, obviously attempting to pull his mind out of something. "Let's jus' get ta tha Control Room. Ain't no God damn computer that can do a job better than any man – gotta make sure it's doin it right."

"Sure," said Roxanne, trying to sound practical and pushing the sleeves of her lab coat further up her arms. As they walked on, though, she couldn't help but glance at Zach. She wondered what he specialized in, how someone so young was at the CDC surrounded by scientists that were supposedly the 'best-of-the-best.' She wondered if he felt out of his depth, not just here, but in the whole situation.

She herself was beginning to crumble. Seeing Jenner lose his wife only made her cling on more tightly to the notion that her own family was safe in England, and only made her wish more reverently that she _had _got in one of those jeeps and let the army spirit her away to the safer place. And what had made her stay? Her damning sense of duty. Hearing about those people getting bitten…_children_ turning into creatures too horrific to think about…she'd thought she at least needed to try – right? Because those could be _her _children, and if that happened, she'd like to think that there was a cure out there for them.

Roxanne followed Zach into the Control Room - almost walking into him when he suddenly stopped.

"Wha' tha Jesus hell?" he whispered.

Roxanne felt her heart pinch and tumble – the way you do when you see an ambulance flying down the road in the general vicinity of your home – and stepped more fully into the room.

The two of them stood wide eyed, dwarfed by the screen that took up the entire expanse of the wall opposite them. Roxanne let out a choked sound of disbelief.

**CDC RESEARCH BASES. **

**Beijing – _TERMINATED_**

**Bristol_ -TERMINATED_**

**Chicago - _TERMINATED_**

**Cologne - _TERMINATED_**

**Dehli – _TERMINATED _**

**Hiroshima -_ TERMINATED_**

**Lyon**

**Munich - _TERMINATED_**

**Stockholm – _TERMINATED _**

**Sydney **

"What do they…what do they mean _terminated_?" Roxanne whispered, not able to take her eyes off of the data on screen.

"_Terminated_," Vi replied. "_In the event of the research base being threatened, high impulse thermobaric (HITs) fuel air explosives are released which produces a blast that would destroy the center._"

They were both silent for a few moments. Roxanne abruptly realized with astonishing clarity that this was one of those grand, sweeping moments in her life – like when you adjust the radio volume in your car and miss the rogue van that jumps the traffic light and you smash straight into it, or when you walk into a café and meet the man you will marry. She suddenly understood what the data was telling her, and realized she had to ask the question – the answer to which she'd been denying to herself all along. The possibility that, really, her family wasn't safe at all.

"Vi," she called out, her voice cracking slightly. "Give us a map of the globe that shows infected areas at Day 1 of the outbreak."

Replacing the data on the screen, a large world map suddenly appeared. There were three main small black dots – one situated just around Georgia, another around Japan and then another somewhere in the middle of Russia.

"Day 4," Roxanne instructed.

The black dots expanded to an alarming size, and more cropped up on the map. The Southern States of America were almost completely covered in black, and the more densely populated parts of China and India seemed to be almost entirely engulfed.

_This wasn't happening. _

"Day 6."

Parts of the UK were now tainted with black, and Roxanne had to fight back tears as she instructed, quietly: "Day 10."

The out-break covered the globe – there was barely an area that wasn't covered, save for places in the extreme north or south where civilization was impossible.

She thought it had just been America. Hell, she thought it had just been a small part of America.

Not this.

Not this.

It was already the end. Finding a cure wouldn't help now because humanity was already fucked. What was the point?

Roxanne turned to look at Zach. She didn't feel shocked when she saw him holding the gun – she knew that, deep down, staying behind had been suicide – was there really any difference if they just sped it up by a few days?

"How d'ya wanna do this, then?" he asked, quietly.

"How many bullet's that thing got?"

"Two."

And, feeling a profound sense of peace, she nodded. "Enough for the both of us, then."

Day 17

16 days since Sarah had arrived at the CDC.

13 days since Candace had been bitten.

10 days since Candace had died.

10 days since Roxanne and Zach had opted out.

And 9 days since all the other scientists had opted out, Jenner and Sarah sat alone in the Control Room.

Sarah was stretched out a long one of the table tops; examining a bottle of wine that was already half empty with a frown. "1996…was that a good year?"

"I don't know…I would have been…twenty five?" Jenner said. He grinned. "Yeah – that was a good year."

"Jesus, man – you were _twenty five_! I was fourteen!" Sarah exclaimed. She stopped speaking abruptly, considering something as she stared up at the ceiling. "Nah, 1996 was a shitty year – I think I got braces."

Jenner laughed, taking a pull from the can of beer he was holding before approaching Sarah. "You can't have a whole bottle of wine to yourself, you're way too drunk – I'm cutting you off."

"You can't do that! I'm not even that drunk!" Sarah said, in mock outrage. She attempted to scooch away from Jenner, but ended up clumsily falling off of the table.

"You just proved my point," he chuckled, as she lay on the floor, groaning.

"_Ow_…shut up, that fucking hurt!"

Jenner rolled his eyes as Sarah propped herself into a sitting position, back resting heavily against the table leg. She folded her arms – not because she was cold, but because she couldn't remember feeling this light before, like her body housed a second solar system – and stared into space. "Do you reckon there's a place completely untouched by this all?" she asked, and Jenner was surprised by the sudden clarity to her voice and soberness to her eyes when she turned to look at him.

"I don't know," he said carefully as he sat down next to her. "Maybe – but they'll be places where there isn't civilization. No humans."

Sarah nodded, taking a swig from the bottle of wine. "I was talking to the French scientists in Lyon a few days ago...when the communications line went down…" she picked at a loose thread in her T Shirt, before looking Jenner in the eye. "They said that a vaccine might be easier to create than we were thinking. We just had to find –" she broke off.

"Find what?" Jenner prodded.

She shrugged. "I don't know - that's the frustrating thing about it. Communications line went down before they could tell me."

The hand that Jenner was not using to hold onto his beer clenched for a second, before he muttered, "Fucking figures."

"I know. There's nothing _easy _about this: about any of this!" she snarled in frustration. And then, as suddenly as her anger had appeared; Sarah's breath hitched. "Stupid fucking French scientists," she hiccupped as her eyes glazed over with tears. "It isn't fair."

Jenner sighed, pulling Sarah into a hug. He knew that there was only a difference of eleven years between them, but increasingly he found himself wandering if this is what it would feel like if he and Candace had had a daughter. "It never is, honey."

* * *

**A/N **And now everyone hates me because Rick and the group _still _haven't made it into this chapter! I promised it for chapter 2, but I can all but guarantee it for chapter 3 – so have no fear.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **A small prayer to my readers: may you never, ever get caught out by a thunderstorm whilst camping. You will wake up, and your tent floor will be a puddle. You will be forced to spend the night in the family car. You _will_ regret the whole experience…so, yeah, check the weather forecast _before_ camping.

Rick and friends arrive in this chapter (finally) – also, thank you to everyone who's supported this story thus far by favouriting, alerting or reviewing (actually _especially _if you've been reviewing – I'm kind of a review whore.)

Also, heads up – the chronology that's been going on through this fic messes around a bit here. Idk if this is a problem when reading or not.

Story **Rated T **for graphic violence, swearing and mild sexual situations.

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

* * *

"_No, no. No, see, this is a really shit idea. You know why? Because it's really obviously a shit idea."_

_-128 Days Later (2002) _

* * *

Day 0

"Man, you're the idealist, I'm the realist – I'm just pointing out that there is no way in _hell _this girl likes me. Something tells me that 401-GO2-HELL isn't a number."

Rick laughed as they pulled up onto the curb in the police car. It was standard patrols, and he hoped to God that they wouldn't end up wasting another day like they had last time: busting a high school dealer, and then wasting half the day taking the cocaine to the state lab so that some guy in a lab coat could tell them what they already knew. Shane had been incensed (_am I missing something here? Does everyone_ just_ believe what the dude in the white lab coat tells them? I went to state school! I know what cocaine looks like!)_

"Nah, Shane. That's just her way of telling you she likes you," said Rick, fiddling with the volume of the dispatch radio.

Shane shook his head, glancing out his window. "I'm telling you. She's fucking crazy."

The pair fell silent. Rick stared out his window which faced out over the road and onto the opposite sidewalk. He watched as a man with his toddler wondered past, then a kid with a radio three times the size of his head balanced on his shoulder. Twins in school uniform who broke into identical grins at a magazine. And a woman with short waves of blonde hair that fell into her face as she struggled with the many bags she was carrying.

Inside Rick, everything stopped. He waited for the woman to lift her face – somehow it was important that she should – but she turned away to settle her bags on the floor of the sidewalk. She straightened upright and

A taxi cut the world in half and the dispatch radio reported a speeding truck and armed men a little out of town. Rick glanced at the radio, then back out the window – but by then the taxi was gone, and so was she.

"Hey, man, what are you waiting for? Start the car," Shane said, and Rick shook his head slightly, twisting the keys in the ignition and peeling off the curb.

Day 27

Sarah glanced up from the microscope when the lights flickered off once again.

She waited for them to turn back on – as they usually did – and when they didn't, she stood up from her chair.

Sarah could feel her pupils widening in response to the darkness – trying to catch the wisps of some none-existent light – and the hairs on the back of her neck begin to rise. She turned around and around on the spot like a human solar system – trying to remember where the door had been; feeling for the nearest desk so she didn't walk into it.

"Ed?" she yelled, but all that seemed to be going through her head was _oh shit oh fuck oh my God I can't see_. "Ed – the power's gone!" she cried out, louder.

Sarah stumbled backwards, tripped, and attempted to use her hand to break her fall. It slammed into the desk, on top of the vial of walker blood she'd been observing before the lights went out. The tube crushed underneath the force of her palm, glass cutting into her hand - and, as if the force of impact had been enough - a few of the more minor lamp lights flickered on. The light they shed was dimmer than that of the bright white of the paneled ceiling lights, but it was enough for Sarah to look down and see the harsh open cuts on her hand, and the little flowers they'd bled onto the desk below.

With the slight return of power, the screen on the lab wall had flickered on dimly. Projected onto it was Jenner making a video log entry from another room, and as Sarah swore under her breath, his voice filled the room.

"_Day 31… In an attempt to conserve power I've shut down the electricity in the majority of the labs…" _

"Jesus, that hurts." Sarah hissed, as she cradled her bloody hand in her uninjured one. "Bandages…where the hell are the bandages –"

She broke off suddenly. Looked at her hand.

"_As the disease has taken hold of more of the globe, we've doubled our attempts to find a cure…" _

Staining Sarah's skin a diseased brown color and seeping into her wounds was the walker blood that had been in the vial. She could feel oxygen flood her lungs, feel them constrict as she began to pant – hyperventilating.

"Oh God," she choked out.

She'd known idiots who thought that they could buy a tattoo machine and start inking up their friends – and always they'd forget one key element. The prevention of cross-contamination. The spreading of germs, bacteria and disease by carrying them from an infected area to the non-infected area. People should know that it was the things like that – the things you couldn't see coming - which would kill you.

"_So far it seems that once the virus is in the blood, there is nothing we can do to prevent it…"_

Sarah ran to a shelf, grabbing a beaker with the label _Povidone Iodine_. Her heart was beating fast, pumping the blood round her veins rapidly. She couldn't help but wonder if that would speed up the process of infection. She wondered how long it would take for her to go down with the fever.

"_The disease hibernates under the skin like a bear until the death of the host – where it takes hold and re-triggers basic function of the brain. We've tried many different methods to flush the virus out of the system, but we're running out of options." _

Sarah switched on a faucet and stuck her wounded hand underneath it, watching for a second as the water in the sink turned red with her blood. She unscrewed the cap of the beaker with her teeth, and then swallowed heavily as she positioned the cup over her cuts.

"_The disease has a 100% kill rate. So far we've been looking at acquired immunity, but I think humanity needs to start looking at innate immunity, and if it's even possible in the individual…"_

Povidone-iodine was a stable chemical complex of polyvinylpyrrolidone and elemental iodine, and since 1811 it had been used in the treatment and prevention of wound infections. Sarah was praying that the substance would purge her cuts of the contaminated blood, so, with a 'this is going to hurt, but I want to live' mind set, she tipped the contents of the beaker onto her wound.

The moment the liquid came into contact with her flesh, it burned. By the time she'd emptied out the whole of the cup a glowing, pulsating greenish spot had filled her vision.

A wave broke in Sarah's stomach and she threw up into the sink. Panic and fear were causing her head to spin, and she gripped the rim of the sink with her good hand to keep herself upright.

Over the ringing in her ears, she could hear the final words of Jenner's video log entry.

"…_if we don't, I can't see there being much cause for hope." _

* * *

Jenner turned the video camera off and settled back into his chair, running a tired hand down his face.

The CDC was failing. They had roughly a month's worth of generator power left after the national grid crash and it seemed harsh that time was the only thing that hadn't inexorably ground to a halt after the out-break. Time pulled him further away from Candace, time ran out on his and Sarah's failing search for a cure.

Jenner stood up from his seat and stepped out of the room and into the semi-darkness of the corridors.

When Candace had been alive, he'd had had a recurring nightmare that he'd been in a plane that had gone into a nosedive half way through his flight. He could remember the exact feeling of waking, shaking and sweaty, with the sickening feeling that he'd left his wife alone in the world. Somehow, he'd never been able to imagine it the other way around – even in his dreaming moments, his mind had never been able to conjure up the possibility of a world in which _he _was with out _her_. But then again, his mind had never been able to conjure up the possibility of a world in which the dead walked.

Jenner had taken to living, eating, and sleeping his research. Because there was no visual evidence of day and night underground apart from the little clock at the bottom corner of computer screens, his body clock was all kinds of messed up. He'd be looking at slides of tissue samples underneath a microscope at four in the morning and sleep through the main part of the day.

As for Sarah Hannigan, the fact that they'd barely held a conversation in the last two days surprised him more than the fact that her first vaccine had practically killed the human tester. Some inexplicable force that Jenner couldn't quite understand was driving her to work for days at a time with out sleep – to nibble at corners of stale ideas that they'd long since dismissed as impossible.

And she had always been like that – not one to believe in impossibilities. Jenner had first heard of the young Dr. Hannigan when she gave a talk at a conference that involved some radical ideas in the development of science and the possibility of bioterrorism. _We are social beings_, she'd said, and at twenty five she hadn't possessed quite the same authority as she did at twenty nine, but something in her voice had made him stop and listen. _We need to stay close to our families, our communities. In order to be accepted into these groups, we need to play by their rules – otherwise we become outsiders and outcasts. Bioterrorism capitalizes on this weakness of human nature – it sets out a disease that manifests itself in communities. Ultimately, it could be what kills us. _

And he'd be damned if she hadn't been right four years later: the walker disease had spread so fast _because_ of large communities and cities, and, if the whole world hadn't been over-run and infected he _would _have assumed the whole thing to be a product of bioterrorism.

Jenner turned the corner of another corridor in time to hear a loud crash from the lab to his right.

"What –" he muttered, racing to the entrance of the room.

Sarah was lying on the floor; and looking at her then, her body seemed smaller somehow, curled in on itself. To begin with he thought her dead until she moved - turning onto her side to vomit and then coughing her way into consciousness.

"Jesus Christ," Jenner said, running forwards and grabbing her shoulders to steady her as she struggled to sit up.

Sun-strained grey eyes met his own as she looked up at him shakily. "What…what happened?"

"I don't know - you tell me," he said, grimly. "I came in here and you were out cold on the floor."

She touched her head. "I…I don't remember…listen, could you get a washcloth? My head's…spinning."

Jenner nodded, straightening from his crouch. He hadn't noticed it before, but the faucet at the desk directly next to her was running and the sink below it was spattered with blood. He stared for a second, picking up a beaker that lay discarded to the side.

'_Povidone Iodine_,' he read, his lips moving soundlessly. "Hannigan…" he said slowly. "You've got PVP-I up here, what the hell is going on? Did you get hurt before you passed out?"

When Sarah didn't answer, Jenner glanced back down at her. She was examining her left hand, the look of distant confusion on her face replaced with an acute horror.

"I have a fever," she said, looking like she was on the verge of tears.

"Yeah, I know I'm getting you a washcloth," Jenner said impatiently as he turned back to the desk, casting round for a towel he could wet. "But could you just try and tell me what happened here?"

"No," Sarah insisted. "Ed, I have a fever."

He looked at her as if she'd spoken Greek, and she touched the side of her head again – evidently still disorientated and dizzy – as she continued. "I remember now. I was looking at the blood samples of a walker…and then the power went off and – and I stumbled and I broke the vial," her breathing hitched. "I think some of the infected blood got into the wounds in my hand."

"Which explains the vomiting and high temperature…" whispered Jenner, crouching back down next to her to get a better look at the sweaty forehead, the sickly grey hue to her skin. "Hannigan this would be a really great time to tell me you've made a break through in finding the cure."

She shook her head. "The fever and sickness could both just be a product of the fainting and stress," she protested, but even to herself, it sounded like she was trying too hard. "The PVP-I I used could have cleansed my cuts of the infected blood."

"Or it might not have," argued Jenner. "Are you going to leave this up to chance, or are you going to come up with anything better than that?"

"Well I don't see _you _coming up with anything!" snapped Sarah, angrily. "I've been through everything in my head – chemotherapy, bone marrow implants. That'd all work _fine _on the virus if it was focused on one part of the body – but it's _everywhere_."

"And it's the fever that ultimately kills you," said Jenner. "If you'd just been looking at a way to prevent _that_, instead of ways to eradicate the disease – which we both know is a fucking waste of time because it's impossible – we might have some ideas right now!"

"Preventing the fever is a _short term _solution" Sarah hissed. "If we want to stand any chance we need a vaccination or a cure that'll kill the virus completely!"

"Well that mentality isn't going to save you _now_, is it?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but abruptly shut it again. She looked pale as death and was glaring tragically up at Jenner. The beaker of PVP-I was spinning in her nervous finger-tips – and every now and then it would slip and clatter to the floor.

"I'm surprised you haven't put a bullet through my head already," she said eventually, a hint of irony to the coolness of her voice as her flash of anger dissipated.

"But there's _too much potential for medical research _to shoot you," he shot back, sardonically and – half angry, and half aching with the thought of losing her – he glanced back at Sarah's face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

She shook her head. The stray splashes from the faucet had caused strands of her hair to stick, wet, to her face and a few drops trickled down her cheeks like tears. "No, _I _shouldn't have," she said, suddenly looking very, very tired. "You never know what it feels like until it's you."

Jenner stared at her like he'd never seen her before, and he supposed in all fairness to himself he hadn't, not like this at least. Around the time of Candace's death he honestly _had _hated Sarah – she'd been driven and determined and wasn't going to let small ethical issues get in her way - and yet the thought of losing her now was almost as painful as losing his wife had been. She looked sick. Her face was pale and fragile and her fingers felt almost brittle when she reached out to grab his hand, prompting his reply.

"No," Jenner said, swallowing. "I guess not."

Day 30

Three days on and Sarah was showing no signs of scumming to the normal symptoms of a walker bite.

To begin with she'd still been sick and maintained a slight temperature, but that was the extent of it. It actually turned out that she'd managed to wash out the majority of the infected blood with Povidone Iodine before it could do any real damage.

Spooning up mouthfuls of cereal from her bowl as she scanned over a stack of research notes, Sarah tried to think of Jace Shephard and Candace who _had _changed into walkers, but they seemed too far away – had it really been almost a month ago? – and all she could remember, with out any resentment, were Zach and Roxanne and the other CDC scientist's who had shot themselves before they could come to the same fate. It made her think of Jenner and the chilling comment he'd made in his anger about not shooting her after she turned. It forced her to think, ultimately, how far _would _she go to obtain the cure? Would she sacrifice the well-being of her body in the name of medical research? When it came down to it, would she really have inflicted that fate upon Candace?

Sarah shook her head, attempting to refocus on the pages in front of her. The dips and curves of medical graphs were blurring before her eyes and she sighed. A few more months reading in this near-darkness and she was going to need glasses.

Her niece – Leah – had worn glasses. She'd had the freckles and the cute little pigtails and everything. Technically, Sarah had been – was - her godmother. Apparently that meant she was responsible for Leah's religious education, which was a gigantic joke seeing as Sarah had never set foot in a church in her life (blame it on the healthy fear of the roof bursting into flames). It was the type of thing she and Chris used to joke about, when really, it wasn't funny at all – they'd both lost a lot of faith in Him when they're parents had died.

Jenner had asked about her family exactly once, when he'd been taking her blood to ensure the disease didn't spike randomly after the accident with the vial. Despite living together in close physical proximity for the best part of twenty days, they hadn't offered up any kind of personal information to one another in that time.

"Your family somewhere out there in this?" he had asked, as Sarah watched the needle break the white skin of her arm. She gave a slight wince when there wasn't any blood flowing, and Jenner shook his head, removing the needle and sticking her again.

"My brother and his family, maybe - our parents died when we were younger…" Sarah trailed off. The day before her mother had died, she had been teaching her how to make chocolate chip cookies. Sarah had been more focused on eating the dough when her mother wasn't looking and never really learned how to cook properly – even in later life her diet now mainly consisted of a steady stream of take-outs. She had had it down to science, really, before arriving at the CDC. Monday was pizza night, Tuesday, Subway; Wednesday was Chinese; Thursday, soup; and the weekend was normally leftovers. It was downright lonely (and embarrassing) ordering – because was there any sadder phrase than asking for any meal out for _one_? At the point in her life when Sarah had been young she _hadn't _been lonely – she'd been a young girl with a mom and dad and a family, and the next day suddenly she was a young girl, forced into a black dress and uncomfortable shoes, standing at a graveside with her older brother, orphaned.

"What were they like?"

Telling Jenner about her parents made her feel ten years old again, and Sarah frowned. "I don't remember them too well and I haven't got any pictures of them down here, but supposedly my mom looked a lot like me."

"You mean you look like _she _did," he said, correcting.

"No," Sarah glanced down as he removed the needle from her arm smoothly before looking him in the eye. "I mean she looked like _me_. I'm the one that's still around, right? So I'm the one you should be comparing to."

Jenner didn't argue with Sarah's logic, just cleared away the equipment and carefully labeled the vial of her blood with her name and the date before setting it on a rack. "I guess," he said, finally. "Made any progress with research?"

Sarah nodded, rolling her shoulder slightly to get feeling back into her arm. "I'm looking into attempting to create a vaccine based on the cell-culture method," she said as she stood up and walked across the room for a file of notes which she picked up quickly, flicking through pages and pages of research. "You create a medium for the virus to grow in based on cells derived from modified mammal kidney tumor cells which should – _should _– promote the virus growth. Our first hurdle would be getting our hands on those cells, the next is making sure that the virus enters the cells and makes copies of itself. Then we'd separate the virus from the growth solution, chemically inactivate it and split into pieces. Basically all we have to do then is remove the structural proteins leaving only the surface proteins and inject that into some willing human source. Once the vaccine enters the body the protein triggers the creation of antibodies, which will swarm the invading virus and keep them from attaching to body cells. There's just one problem –"

"The virus mutates," said Jenner, folding his arms. It was an unpleasant discovery they'd made as they compared different blood samples through out the duration of Sarah's stay at the CDC, and only added to the list of things that stood against them.

"Right and it can mutate within days. This particular vaccine takes _seven months _to create. By the time we'd killed off one strain of the virus inside you, you could get re-infected, and it would take us another six or seven months to create another vaccine to defeat _that _strain, by which time you'd probably be dead. If we even think about a vaccine we need to think about one that trains the antibodies to adapt to all different mutations of this virus and means you only need one shot."

"Which I'm pretty sure isn't possible."

"It isn't," said Sarah, heavily. "For us to create a vaccine like that is impossible – we'd be looking at years, maybe even _centuries_ into the future for the technology to create that kind of antibody – especially now the world's gone to shit and we don't have the thousands of scientists and doctors conducting medical research like we used to. I'm still going to try, but…basically, we're screwed."

Jenner stared at her for a moment, but she didn't notice, too busy glancing through her research as if skimming hastily through a dozen magazines. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he turned away from her.

Though Sarah Hannigan didn't fully realize what she'd said at that moment, Jenner had heard and _he'd _understood. In black and white it was Sarah admitting that her hope for a cure had been unfounded – that it wasn't possible - until you read between the lines: here was the first time she admitted, honestly, that she'd been wrong.

Day 50

Edwin Jenner did not have to be on the look out for angels: they haunted him already.

In the American Civil War, veterans suffered from 'soldier's heart'; in World Was I, it was called 'shell shock,' and in World War II, the term was 'combat fatigue'.

In this day and age it was called PTSD, or post-traumatic stress disorder: something that occurred when someone experienced an extremely frightening event in which actual or threatened death or serious injury occurred. The symptoms were often synonymous with reliving the event through intrusive memories or dreams, an emotional avoidance such as steering clear of reminders of the trauma; detachment emotionally from others and hyper-awareness that meant you could startle easily, sleep poorly and be on alert for any potential threats.

And Candace appeared wherever he went, no matter how hard he tried to avoid her. She rose with the steam that fogged the glass panes of his shower in the morning and walked through the CDC corridors with him in the day. Sleep was no longer a necessity, but a plea for release – and yet sometimes she was there, in his dreams, appearing in his sleeping memories as a walker and then as a human aged twenty six; when he'd first met her or at thirty five; nine years later when he'd killed her.

And now, the TS-19 samples were destroyed a long with the rest of their blood samples. The system alert that _Vi _had initiated had drawn Sarah from her lab in time to stand with Jenner in the decontamination room and witness the whole room go up in flames.

The decontamination process that they'd set up after Sarah had spilt the contaminated blood wasn't subjective – even the tiniest, most none-threatening spill could set it off. As Jenner knew, they weren't engineers and hadn't been able to program it to Alex Ramm's standards.

And Jenner had seen Candace in the flames. The last hope that he'd clung to – that her brain matter samples or skin tissue might be able to yield some kind of clue towards a cure – had instantly died with the sight of them being destroyed.

The taste of the wine at the back of his mouth was almost as bitter as the thought that, there was no point in surviving if you had nothing to survive _for_.

Sarah seemed to be in a similar state. They both stood in the Control Room, wine glass in hand – her forehead was bleeding, though neither of them could remember how it had happened. He watched as she pressed her palm to her forehead, wiping away another smear of blood.

"How did that happen again?" he asked, tipping the neck of the wine bottle he was holding towards her.

"My right hand's bleeding too," she shrugged, and then suddenly seemed to realize that she hadn't made any sense, and frowned. "I…think I tried to get back into the lab to save the samples. You stopped me."

They both remembered. The wine was having a stronger effect now – memories and moments occurring in snap shots like a camera, but then both being unable to connect each one.

He could remember her blond hair reflecting the light as she ran forwards, her attempting to wrench the door open before decontamination could occur. Then heavy breathing and the sound of crying as he pinned Sarah to the floor – she'd hit her head hard on the ground, that was how it had happened – so she wouldn't die trying to save the samples.

'_No,' _he'd yelled. _'It's too late. Don't.'_

Yet she had still struggled.

She was never normally reckless, not ever so driven by instinct as she had been in that moment of terror as she'd tried to save their research.

He knew that Sarah was just as amazed at her brief lack of composure and sense of self-preservation. The fire was still reflected in her eyes, and he knew it was still haunting her: the idea that she could have so easily been burnt to a crisp, and the idea that she now had nothing left to live for.

With no research there could be no vaccine. And, being drunk, he told her so.

"There can't be a vaccine or any kind of cure." The words echoed in the silence of the room. "You're never going to find it now."

In the brief moment before she looked away there was, on her face, a clear flash of tension and anger. In a carefully controlled movement Sarah set her wine glass on a near by desk – still half empty – and stalked towards him.

"Tell me that when you're sober," she snapped – and Jenner suddenly realized that she was no where near as drunk as he thought she was. Sarah pushed hard against his shoulder with her good hand. "And maybe I'll listen."

And then she was gone from the room.

Jenner listened for a second to the angry staccato of her footsteps as she hurried away from him, before sitting back down at a computer and booting it up.

"The TS19 samples are gone," he said to the camera. "The tragedy of their loss cannot be overstated. They were our freshest samples by far…none of the other samples we gathered even came close. Those are necrotic, useless dead flesh."

He paused. "I don't even know why I'm talking to you. I bet there isn't a single son-of-a-bitch out there still listening, is there? Is there?"

He stood up. "Fine. Saves me the embarrassment. I think tomorrow I'm gunna blow my brains out. I haven't decided." He glanced in the direction Sarah had left in before saying: "But tonight, I'm getting drunk."

And maybe it was just to spite her and piss her off, but he took another swig from the glass of wine anyway.

* * *

Sarah ran a hand down the side of her face.

She was standing in the foyer now. It was the first time she'd seen it since she had been with Alex there. The supply boxes were now just empty crates, and the space that had once been bustling with army personnel was now eerily empty.

She touched her head again and ran a finger over the cut there. She was sure it should hurt, but she somehow felt distant from the pain, too angry at Jenner to really concentrate on anything else.

_Time? We don't have time, Candace. Look at you!_

"_I…I'm sorry. I didn't…" _

"_Mean it? Honey, you can't just give up at the first sign of things going bad._

It had been one of the last things Candace had ever said with her, and for almost two months she hadn't given up.

And then there was Jenner, piss drunk, mocking her. He had already given up, but she doubted she ever _could_. Not with so much blood on her hands: Jace's…Candace's…

The fevered, bright light of the foyer cut her eyes and she squeezed them tight shut, only for them to fly open seconds later at the sound of the main door opening.

* * *

Rick pounded on the door, desperate. "Please!" he yelled. "Help us! You're killing us!"

Shane came out of nowhere and wrapped an arm round him, trying to pull him away from the door. "No!" Rick shouted, his voice strangled as he struggled against Shane's grip. "You're killing us! You're killing us!"

And, like _open sesame_, his words changed the whole landscape. The door opened, bathing the group in light.

From then, he could barely remember how he forced everyone in, how he double and triple checked to make sure Lori and Carl were safe and through the door before he himself entered. He could barely remember the precise moment that he realized that they weren't alone in the CDC foyer.

The blonde haired woman had her back to him, bent double as she helped T Dog with some bags and lowered them to the ground.

Rick stilled suddenly. He waited for the woman to lift her head – somehow there was something strangely familiar about her, or the situation – he couldn't decide which. She straightened upright and

"_Rick_?"

The woman was suddenly staring straight at him, grey, sun-strained eyes gazing incredulously into his own.

Something small and infinitesimal moved in him. Rick didn't answer - because what the hell could he possibly say, with his throat swollen like this? And that was all it took for her to understand. They'd always been like that. Words hadn't been needed, but then again, something like twenty years could change a lot.

"Oh Jesus," Sarah whispered. "It _is _you, isn't it?"

* * *

**A/N **Walking Dead Season 3 has just been too good - I've loved Rick being all bad-assy! And like father like son, Carl's been totally epic this season too, that kid is awesome.

Please remember to review!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N **More of a chapter to flesh out Sarah's past and her character a little more. Enjoy!

* * *

**CHAPTER 4**

* * *

'"_A hundred years from now there isn't going to be one sad fuck to look at any of this. What keeps you going?"_

"_You know what it is, Theo? I just don't think about it."'_

_- Children Of Men (2006)_

1989 – twenty one years before out-break

It was already deep summer in King County, Georgia. The late afternoon sky bloomed overhead like the blue honey of the Mediterranean and the houses of the small rural town seemed to sag in their white-picket fenced yards. New cars were parked out in the sweltering heat, paint already peeling and insides sweltering as the summer light warmed roadhouse roofs.

It was during that summer – the one that forecasters had said had to be one of the hottest on record - that Rick Grimes first met Sarah Hannigan.

At age fifteen, Rick Grimes knew that he would stay in King County for the rest of his life; that he would be a police chief there until he died. It was what his daddy had done before him and what his granddaddy had done before that and maybe even his great-granddaddy had been known as the chief of police to the good people of King County way back in the day. He knew this was something that, really, he did not have a choice in – he could no sooner deny _this_ choking obligation than he could his own personality.

Because Rick would be a good chief of police. Sure, he'd have to work up the ranks: this wasn't the 19th century anymore – you didn't just get these kind of positions handed to you on a silver platter, but Rick had a strong sense of justice. Of right and wrong. Hell, he was practically made for the job, and it wouldn't take long for the higher-ups to see that.

So even at fifteen Rick could clearly see the rest of his life mapped out before him, which was what made the summer of '89 stifling for more reasons than just the climate.

He needed a job – at least for now - which would be difficult to find considering King County basically consisted of a simple white church, the lending library, a joint building for the fire and police station, the local grocery store and school and an old run down garage – the family-business kind that looked like it had been open for longer than it ought.

The interior of the garage was deceptively small and home to a dusty wreck of a Ford and an old Chevy truck, which a young man was sprawled underneath. When Rick entered the cool shade of the garage he could hear the low pitched splutter and whir of the air conditioning which was suddenly disturbed by a loud bang, and then a few equally loud swear words as the teenage boy crawled out from underneath the truck, wiping his oil coated hands on a rag.

"Useless piece of crap," the boy muttered, kicking the tire of the rusted up old truck hard before turning his startling grey eyes on Rick. The boy stiffened and seemed to hesitate for a second before wheeling round abruptly and making for the small door on the left wall. "We ain't open," he threw over his shoulder, and disappeared through the door and out of Rick's sight.

Rick stood for a second, clutching the recommendation letter his teacher had written out for him, which he looked down at after a moment and ripped in half. Then, on a second thought, he screwed it up in his fist and sent it sailing into the nearest trash can.

When hemoved to leave, Rick was shocked to realize he wasn't alone in the garage. A young girl sat on the bonnet of the Ford, a large stack of books precariously balanced next to her, and, judging by the disconcerting grey of her eyes, she had to be of some relation to the older boy he'd just met. Rick hadn't noticed her before because she was equally as dusty as the wreck of the car she sat on, as if she hadn't moved from the spot in years.

The girl regarded him silently for a second before saying: "Are you angry at him?"

Rick swallowed. It was hot and she wasn't making any sense and he couldn't even be sure she wasn't some kind of weird mirage his frustrated and tired brain had dreamed up. "Who?" he asked, hoping a monosyballic answer would make her go away.

"Chris," the girl said, as if it were obvious, and it suddenly struck him she must be talking about the boy with the oil on his hands.

"Er, no…I just, was hoping to ask someone about a job…" replied Rick, having ascertained the girl was real. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, awkwardly. "It doesn't matter now, I'll…go," he said, still slightly put-off by the girl's gaze. She had fairy blonde hair and delicate features, but despite that there wasn't anything even distinctly feminine about her. She was utterly swamped by her tomboyish clothing – a large, threadbare checkered shirt the sleeves of which she'd had to role several times to hang loosely round her wrists and equally baggy khaki shorts.

When she jumped down from the bonnet of the Ford, the girl's shirt billowed around her like some kind of weird parachute and she managed to kick up a hell of a lot of dust. "Don't go," she said, the moment her bare feet touched the ground. "You're the first person that's come in here all day!"

Rick was about to point out that he wasn't the best company for an eight year old girl, and that she didn't exactly have the greatest social skills either, when a thought came to him. "Do you live here?"

The girl looked up at him incredulously. "No, this is where the _cars _are kept," she said, in a tone that questioned his sanity. She cocked her head to one-side, frowning up at him slightly.

"Yeah, I know that. I mean do you live..." Rick broke off and sighed, trying to think of how to phrase his question in a way the girl would understand. "…are you part of the family that own this garage?"

The girl nodded, seemingly oblivious to the mistake in her previous answer. "Yessir. My name's Sarah Catherine Hannigan."

(Present Day) Day 64.

Sarah was going crazy. She was definitely going crazy, because there was no way Rick Grimes had somehow found his way back into her life after twenty one years.

It shouldn't be that significant, it shouldn't matter _that _much, but it did. Because it was _Rick. _

"Rick?" Sarah asked, even though there could be no question as to who stood before her. Because, though his hair wasn't as thick, nor as unruly as it once had been and there wasn't the same sense of casualness there, either, and though he had changed so, _so _much, he was still Rick.

And looking at all those tiny changes to him made Sarah want to erase the last six or seven years of her life and relive them with him, so she wouldn't feel like they were starting all over again now.

She wanted to know – with that childish earnestness she'd possessed at eight years old - what had happened to him in the last twenty years to get him to here and now.

She wanted to know if he was still kick-ass at poker, and if he still counted to ten before making any kind of decision. She wondered if he remembered that when they had walked together she had counted every prairie dog hole she saw or that he had taught her how to skip rocks across the river that ran a little to the west of King County. It was stupid. They'd both managed to survive the out-break of a zombie apocalypse and those were the first questions that jumped to her mind.

"Oh Jesus," Sarah whispered, finally. "It _is _you, isn't it?"

Rick's head jerked back as if he had been physically burnt by her words and Sarah frowned, trying, as usual, to figure out what she'd done wrong this time.

1989

"Well, it's good to meet you Sarah Hannigan. I'm Rick Grimes," said Rick, born and raised the Southern gentleman.

A tiny hand slipped into the comparatively larger one he'd extended for her to shake and little Sarah Hannigan squinted up at him. "As in Sheriff Grimes' son?" she asked.

There was no emotion to the answer Rick gave as he withdrew his hand from hers, no indication as to how much her identification of him as the _Sherrif's son _annoyed him. "Right."

"Oh," said the small girl, again seemingly oblivious to any mistake or tension she'd caused. "Well, it's nice to meet you too then Rick Grimes," she parroted.

If Rick had been thinking properly, or was old enough to recognize the signs, it would have struck him as odd that Sarah, who lived in a town in which everybody knew everyone else, did not immediately know who he was at first glance. In a town the size of King County you always knew everyone who crossed your path, always had. In some ways, that was comforting – it was kind of like a great big extended family that you sometimes loved and sometimes fell out of favor with – at least, that was how Rick's pa had often described it. It was also sometimes pretty haunting.

There were no secrets in King County.

And looking at this tomboyish, small girl now, something flickered in the back of Rick's mind. He was reminded of something – a fragmented sentence, something he had always known but never fully acknowledged or realized. Rick stilled for a second, trying to think, but then Sarah spoke and he forgot.

"Do you need a job? I can help you get one here if you want."

"What?"

"If you want a job," she said and reached out and grabbed his hand. "I can help you get one here." And this time, when Rick looked at their shadows cast against the garage wall, it almost looked as if he'd reached out his hand to grab Sarah's. It almost looked as if he were the one supporting her, instead of the other way around. He wouldn't know it then, but that was always how it would be. They would be so close that you couldn't tell where one stopped and where the other began, or, when it came down to it, who was really leaning onto who for support.

"I don't think –" but Sarah's fingers suddenly slipped through his like quicksilver and she darted over towards the door that her brother had disappeared through minutes earlier before he could protest any more.

"Chris!" she yelled, standing on tip toes to pull on the door handle and then swinging the door open. "Chris!"

"You don't need to –" said Rick, embarrassed. _Jesus_, he thought. He knew he should have left before she spoke to him.

"You came here for help, right?" the small girl said as she stumbled to a stop, turned and looked at Rick with confusion in her eyes.

"I came here looking for a _job_," corrected Rick. "And I don't think your brother's going to want to give me one."

"He will –"

"You don't understand. Listen, I've got to go."

She followed him as he exited the garage, almost having to run to keep up with his much longer legs. "Where?"

"I don't know. Home?" _Away from a nosy eight year old? _

"But –"

Rick sped up his pace so that there was no way she could possibly catch up with him.

And then, with an ability to see through all the shit to what really hurts, or maybe she really _was _just stupid enough to call him out on it, the small girl yelled after him: "Coward!"

Rick stopped in his tracks. In front of him was the main road through King County and cars flew by leaving a tunnel of wind in their wake that ruffled his hair and clothes. Rick shut his eyes for a brief second before turning back to face Sarah. She was stood out on the grass verge outside the garage, looking just as ridiculous in her over-sized clothes as she had inside with her fists clenched into tiny balls at her sides and her cheeks red and puffed out.

It had been a stab in the dark for an insult that would make him sting as badly as she had at his dismissal, and it had worked. Nobody had ever called Rick a coward.

They both stood for a second, both blinded by the abrupt harshness of the sunlight after the dim shade of the garage. Rick watched for a second as a tear streaked out the corner of Sarah's eye and down her cheek. He wondered if she was going to lose her nerve at any point and flee, or completely break down into tears but she did not look as nearly as meek as Rick would have expected her to look, even if she was trembling slightly. Sarah continued to stand her ground, not taking her eyes from him and eventually Rick sighed. Shane was never going to let him hear the end of this.

"You want to help me get a job?" he asked, slowly.

She nodded.

"Well…okay then."

Sarah regarded him suspiciously as he began to walk back towards her and Rick couldn't help the slight smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was like being stared down by a kitten.

"Really?" she asked, finally.

"Sure."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure I'm sure."

"You're not lying?"

She knew exactly which buttons to push and Rick's face tightened. "I don't lie."

Sarah was quiet for a second before she pulled the sleeve of her shirt over her hand and scrubbed off the single tear on her cheek. "Alright."

She spat into her other hand and held it out for Rick to shake: the time-honored method of sealing oral contracts.

"Are you serious?" he asked. He hadn't done that since he was six.

"Of course I am."

"I'm not shaking that."

"How else do you do a deal?"

She continued to hold out her hand persistently and Rick rolled his eyes. "I'm not shaking your hand, Sophie."

"It's Sarah."

He'd known that, but the way she wrinkled her nose up in annoyance gave him a kick. Sarah frowned and withdrew her hand. "Fine."

When they both turned to make their way back to the garage the boy Rick had met earlier, Chris, was standing at the entrance with his arms crossed.

Chris Hannigan was every bit as tall as Rick, maybe slightly thinner across the shoulders and was wearing a faded grey t shirt that stretched tightly over muscles built up with endless days of toiling over spare car parts. In the sunlight he was not nearly as old as Rick had initially guessed him to be in the shadows of the garage, in fact, he could barely be older than Rick himself – barely over fifteen or sixteen.

Chris never took his eyes off of them, watching his younger sister like a hawk as she and Rick made their way towards him. When the pair were not a few feet away from Chris Sarah suddenly spoke.

"I have to pee," she piped up, and ran round the back of the garage to what was presumably the main entrance to their house.

Rick watched her go before turning back to Chris. "She left us alone on purpose," he realized.

"She's a smart kid," Chris said, shrugging. "She can read people well."

"Yeah, well she was pretty insistent that she help me get a job."

"I heard you guys talking…if you work here, the pay's going to be shit – you know that, right?"

"I wasn't looking for a job for the money," replied Rick, running a hand through his hair. Maybe this was all about proving to his dad that he might be destined for something other than sheriff, maybe this was something to prove that he wasn't rooted to a job just because of his last name.

Chris looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "Got something to prove to someone, huh?"

And maybe it wasn't just Sarah that could read people well.

"How'd you figure?"

"It's not everyday that the Sheriff's son wants a job with bad hours and lousy pay."

Rick was silent for several heart beats before he turned to Chris. "So you'll take me on for the summer?"

"Why not?" the other boy said, and then his face broke out into a slight smirk. "'Sides, it'll give Sarah someone other than me to annoy the crap out of for vacation. You still in?"

"Sure am." And suddenly Rick went cold. Chris must have sensed it, because he eyed him carefully.

"What is it?"

Rick shook his head. He didn't believe in UFO's, or reincarnations or ghosts or psychics, but he could say at that moment that maybe there were points in your life where everything suddenly fell into place and cemented. He couldn't fully explain the feeling, but it was definitely there.

"M' fine." He said with a shake of his head that was as much to clear it as to convince Chris that everything was OK. Thankfully, he didn't push him, and the pair of teenage boys watched as Sarah ran back towards them through the hazy air that was almost as thick as mist.

"You all good there now, little bug?" asked Chris, and Sarah was about to reply when they heard a large thud that came from the ceiling above their heads.

"What the-" said Rick, but Chris's expression suddenly darkened to one of disgust, his jaw clenched.

"Sarah don't –" he warned his younger sister, but she was already off like a loose cannon, flying up the stairs and into the main body of the Hannigan household, forcing Rick and Chris to follow.

"Ma!" she yelled. "Mom?"

Sarah abruptly stopped in a door way to the cluttered looking dining room and Rick braced his hands on her tiny shoulders to ensure he didn't barrel into her. What he saw drew back that illusive memory from earlier, that thing he had always known but never quite realized or acknowledged. It was the gossip of mothers as they stood on porches watching their children play, the hushed undertone of exchanged news between the residents of King County: Mrs Hannigan was destroyed after the death of her husband and was drinking herself into an early grave.

She was slumped across the floor, soaked in a pile of her own vomit.

Out of the corner of his eye Rick saw an empty gin bottle underneath the radiator and he bent to pick it up. In the time between him retrieving the bottle and straightening back to standing, Sarah had rushed over to her mother's side.

"Mommy?" she whispered. "Mommy, come on – you have to get up."

The woman didn't stir and her daughter shook her slightly. "Mom." She said. "Mom, come on."

For a second Rick didn't think that Mrs Hannigan would wake up, but at Sarah's touch her eye's fluttered open slightly.

"Sarah?" she asked, and her voice was quiet and ragged. Chris approached silently and handed his sister a wet washcloth, a blank expression on his face and Sarah began to stroke the coolness of the wet towel across her mother's forehead. A lump formed in the back of Rick's throat as he watched the practiced skill with which the two siblings got their mother to sit up, realizing this wasn't the first time they'd had to deal with this kind of situation. "Such a good girl," Mrs Hannigan suddenly spoke again, sounding almost delirious as she touched her daughter's cheek. "My beautiful baby girl."

There was a sneer on Chris's face that belied the careful movement of his hands. "Yeah, well she shouldn't have to be looking after _you_," he snapped, effectively silencing anything else his mother might have said. "So shut up."

Sarah looked up at him, wide eyed, but he didn't give her a second glance as he turned to Rick who abruptly knew that him standing there made the whole situation a lot worse. Having a witness to the ordeal was killing Chris, Rick could see it now in his eyes – in the shame and wariness. He opened his mouth to say something but Chris stood up in one, jerky movement and walked straight past him and out the house.

Rick frowned, turning to Sarah. Somehow, going on instinct alone he knew what to do in the absence of her brother. "Come on, Sarah," he said, nodding his head to the door that exited the room.

"But…"

"She'll be fine. Come on," he said, hesitantly bending down and picking her up into his arms. She was lighter than he expected her to be – like everything inside her had already been used up – and she wrapped her arms and legs round him like a monkey.

Rick had always been mature for his age, but there was nothing that forced you to grow up faster than having the responsibility to care for a child. And maybe he threw that kind of responsibility on himself needlessly, but, sure as hell, he didn't shy away from the task – the kid needed him.

With a final glance back at Mrs Hannigan, who was safely propped up against the wall, he carried Sarah out the room.

"You okay? My parents want me to be home soon."

"Why?"

A smile tugged at the edges of Rick's mouth. "I don't know. If I absolutely _had _to guess, though, I'd say it was something to do with me being their only son."

The sarcasm was lost on Sarah. "Oh," she said. "Okay then."

He carefully made his way down the stairs and back into the garage (there was no sign of Chris) and unvined Sarah's arms from round his neck and set her on the ground.

She stared up at him for a second before speaking. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

It was a pretty loaded question, all things considered, and Rick gave her what he thought was the usual knee-jerk response - "Police officer." – but as he uttered the words he suddenly realized the truth in them. He _wanted _to join the force because he wanted to help people, and at fifteen that was as specific as it got, but had he been a little more self-aware, he would have realized it went a whole lot further than that. He wanted to save someone.

"What about you?"

Sarah suddenly grinned, running off to the bonnet of the Ford that he'd first seen her sat on and returning with a sheet of paper. "An astronaut," she said, and Rick looked more closely at the paper to see it was some kind of essay for school.

"Cool…huh," he paused. "There's a mistake right here," he said, taking the paper from Sarah's hands and pretending to read it intently.

"What!" said the small girl, reaching up on her tip toes in an attempt to take it out of Rick's grasp. "No there's not!" But her face betrayed a look of worry. "Where?"

"Here." He smirked. "You forgot a comma."

She folded her arms and gave him a glare that would not change for twenty one years. "That's not funny."

(Present Day) Day 64

This Rick – skittish and genuinely wary of _her _– bore little resemblance to the one Sarah knew. She watched him with incredulity, heat flooding her face at the sting of his rejection and his lack of response. If she ever pictured them meeting again, it wasn't like this.

Sarah wondered how a guy who'd survived this long during a zombie apocalypse and was a dead shot with a gun could barely look her in the eye.

He still had the same black, slightly curly hair and had grown up to be taller than she would have expected – though in her memories, he'd always seemed like a giant, towering over her tiny eight year old form. His jaw was a sharper right angle, too, and his eyes so blue they looked frozen over.

He still hadn't answered her question or given any kind of response except to look as if, for all the world, he couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather not be than right here. And Sarah grit her teeth. Half angry, half disappointed she tore her gaze from Rick.

Right at the beginning of the out-break, when she'd got the call to come to the CDC she'd delayed by two days to visit King County for the first time since she'd left with the intentions of finding Rick – maybe looking at the garage. But the garage had been knocked down and rebuilt into flats and when she asked around for Rick Grimes people looked at her only looked at her with pity and shook their heads. She'd thought him a straight-forward kind of person; she thought that he'd always look out for her no matter what but she realized that at eight she could have mis-interpreted everything. It had been a kid's hope to somehow see Rick again, and she wasn't a kid now.

There and then, Sarah decided she couldn't give a damn about Rick Grimes anymore.

1989

Rick had worked at the garage for two weeks when he realized what it was about Sarah Hannigan that had thrown him.

The young girl just didn't fit.

Not only into the garage, but into the sleepy small-town life. Every background he saw her against, whether it was the river she'd insisted he take her to one evening to skip rocks or the dusty interior of the garage, she stuck out from awkwardly. Her dreams and the drive she possessed seemed to be bigger than not just her small frame, but bigger than the life she lived.

And the ironic thing was, though Rick marveled at her, she seemed to be far more fascinated by _him_.

He'd sometimes look up from a car he was cleaning and catch her looking at him with a scientist's fascination (at that age, she'd had a staring problem.)

"What?" he finally snapped on one such afternoon when the muggy heat combined with her insistent gaze became a little too much.

Sarah blinked, his irritation bouncing off her. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

She fell silent and Rick sighed, dropping the sponge he'd been using to clean one of the cars down with. Cool soap suds rolled down his arms and stray splashes of water had caused the plain white t shirt he wore to stick to his skin uncomfortably. "Well…"

"Well what?"

"Well nothing. Just wondered why you were asking is all."

They both were quiet again until Sarah, who was sitting cross legged at the garage entrance, suddenly started to fidget - her eyes brightening to the color of polished silver with curiosity. "Did your parents ever ask you if you wanted to be a cop when you're older?"

"Kind of," Rick replied evasively, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

"But it was in the way that parents say: _you want some broccoli, right_ wasn't it? As if…as if they already know the answer…like," she paused, seemingly struggling to find the right words in her vocabulary to convey what she was thinking. "Like they think they know what's best for you."

"Cause sometimes they do," he pointed out.

"But sometimes they don't," she said, and Rick felt the corners of his mouth lift at the childish stubbornness to her tone.

"Okay, sometimes they don't," he conceded.

Sarah was silent for several moments and this time he waited patiently for what she was going to say next. "Chris said at the dinner table last night that he wants us to leave here and live with Auntie Piper in Boston."

Rick was thoroughly unprepared for the unexpected wave of emotion that washed through him.

He was a born miracle; his parents had tried for years to conceive a child and eventually were finally given a son. At a young age, he'd been so proud that his father was the sheriff. He'd broadcast his career to the people at the bank, the baggers at the grocery store. He'd ask his dad about the police chases and the guns. Rick couldn't remember when he'd stopped asking and when the hero worship for his father had suddenly stopped and turned to bitterness, but what he didknow was that the feeling of duty to follow in his father's footsteps stayed with him. What society expected of Rick – to become charming and influential and successful – and what they expected of a small girl like Sarah were entirely different. For her, nobody had any expectations. Of Rick, they expected everything.

And it was a combination of all these things that made him wake in the middle of the night, shaking and sweating. He'd lie in bed, trying to steady his heavy breathing and stare up at the ceiling, knowing what lay behind the nightmares. Rick was expected not to fail – he'd spent all his life avoiding failure.

And now, with Sarah's announcement of departure, he suddenly realized he'd been living on borrowed time.

For the first time in his life, he'd met someone who did not know of his reputation. They had no pre-conceived notions of him; they were happy to just have someone to talk to, to help – and even if that person was still some scrawny eight year old kid, he couldn't help but think he owed them so much more than he had given.

And it hit him as if he'd just walked into a brick wall.

He didn't want Sarah to go.

He _really _didn't want Sarah to go.

Which was stupid, because she was an eight year old kid more socially awkward than any other. But still.

"Your Mom not doing so good then, huh?" He swallowed.

"Chris thinks that she might stop drinking if we move away from this town," she replied, quietly.

Rick knew that Mrs Hannigan's problems weren't going to be solved just by leaving King County: moving wouldn't bring her husband back to life, but he could sort of see why it might benefit Sarah.

It had worried him for days that she never seemed to have any friends – never hung out with kids her own age. She seemed unwilling to step a foot out of the garage away from her brother or mother and perhaps he was the best person to understand that sense of duty. If this Aunt could help take care of their mother, then maybe Sarah could have a proper childhood, maybe…

"Maybe it _is_ for the best if you move."

"No it's not!" Sarah said, hotly. "I don't want to leave!"

"You should probably talk about this with Chris –"

But she wouldn't budge. "Why do you think I should go?"

"I just –" Rick shifted uncomfortably. "I don't think you're happy here, Sarah."

She looked at him. "What? Why?"

"You're too busy looking after your Mom to do much else. Chris is right, it shouldn't be that way round: _she _should be looking after _you_."

"But –"

"Sarah. Just let it go."

Suddenly her eyes brimmed with tears. "You're not listening to me! I don't want to leave! I don't _want_ to go!"

Rick attempted to reach out for her but she stumbled backwards, away from him. "No!" she protested, but her voice cracked. "No! I thought you were on my side."

"I am, I –"

"Then why are you all for sending me away?" All of a sudden Sarah started to cry, reminding him that she was just a kid, not as strong as he had always assumed she was. Her face crumpled and she turned away and ran out of the garage.

"Aw shit," Rick muttered. Where the hell was Chris? Shouldn't he be dealing with the consequences of his decision instead of him? "Sarah, wait!" he yelled, taking off after her.

But for someone that was barely taller than four feet she could sure as hell cover a lot of ground in a short space of time. She disappeared round the corner of the garage, across the grass verge and down a small side street in between two yards.

When Rick finally caught up with her, her face was streaked with dirt and tears and they were both breathing heavily.

"Listen," he said, "when I signed up for this job – it wasn't to be chasing after you."

He hadn't meant it in a harsh way, and when Sarah didn't reply he sighed and looked around. They were standing in the middle of a graveyard, in front of a stone that had to be almost the same height as Sarah herself. When Rick looked a little more closely at the engravings on the rock he swore under his breath.

_In loving remembrance of _

_Benjamin C. Hannigan – Husband and father_

_b. 1944 – d. 1988_

Sarah hadn't glanced up at him when he approached her - nor when he had spoken, just continued to stare at the headstone. Her lips were moving, though she wasn't making a sound – as if she were holding a silent conversation with some invisible partner.

Eventually, when Rick did break her silent mantra, it was only to utter a single sentence.

He knelt down, and in one of those awkward, ungainly teenage boy movements, pulled her into a hug. Immediately he felt her tears soak his shirt and abruptly she was no longer silent: her breath catching and blowing out in tortured rhythms as sobs wracked her small frame. "I thought I wasn't going to find you," he whispered, touching her blond hair.

Words that she thought she'd have to hold on to for the rest of her life.

(Present Day) Day 64

It was decided that Sarah and another two men called T Dog and Shane would run out to the vehicles and collect some of the groups bags before the doors of the CDC shut.

It was an excuse to get away from Rick and his strange reaction to her, and, stupid Sarah, she gladly took it.

Shane easily cornered her.

"He's married, you know. He has a wife and a kid."

Her head whipped round. Shane was stood behind her with his arms folded, leaning against a wall with a misleading casualness.

"Who?" Sarah asked, deciding to play dumb, but Shane shook his head and laughed with out humor. "I've seen the way you look at Rick."

She felt ice in the pit of her stomach. "I know Rick's married," she shot back. "I don't care." She realized how that sounded and elaborated. 'I don't care about _him _in that way.'

Shane snorted. "Bullshit you don't."

"How would _you _know?"

He didn't answer her; just stared at her with those unsettlingly dark eyes that made her feel as if her soul was bared out for him to see. "You don't want to go there," he said, slowly. "Trust me."

Irrational anger was slowly building up within her. "I didn't say I did. Just back off okay? Leave me alone."

He held up his hands as if in surrender. "Just trying ta warn ya."

"Thanks for the warning," she spat. "But I don't need it."

A nagging voice in the back of her head, however, told her that maybe she did.

* * *

**A/N **Okay, before anything's said about Sarah's past, I didn't really want to go for the OMFG-I-was-raped storyline. I know it packs a hell of a lot more of an emotional punch, but I think the quiet break-down of Sarah's family when she was a younger has a subtler, but just as strong effect on her later in life. Not only this, but also the fact that Sarah's so young and impressionable at this age means that meeting Rick at age _eight,_ and desperately lonely, will probably have more repercussions with her than if she'd met him when she was say, seventeen.

I know a lot of you probably expected a romantic background between the pair, but I hope I've explained properly why I didn't go for that.

Thank you to all my amazing reviewers and to those who have put this story on their alerts or favorites - you're all awesome!

Last Of The Lilac Wine


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N WARNING: **quite a bit more swearing that usual here. Just thought I'd say.

Story **Rated T **for graphic violence, swearing and mild sexual situations.

* * *

**CHAPTER 5**

* * *

"_Who died and made you fucking King of the Zombies?"_

_Shaun Of The Dead (2004) _

* * *

1989

Every evening, with out fail, Rick's father would sit at the kitchen table with his gun and pull it apart and reassemble it by the yellow glare of the lamp beside him.

Sheriff Grimes' eyes weren't what they'd used to be and more often than not nowadays, wire rimmed reading glasses would catch the light of that lamp just as much as the metal parts of the gun did.

He could have spent his evening with his wife or his son. But he didn't.

"You're up late," Sheriff Grimes noted, not looking up as his son slid into a seat across the table from him.

The barrel was inserted into the bottom of the slide with a metallic clicking noise.

"It's only 8 o' clock."

Assemble more of the gun. Aim it, like you were going to shoot the light bulb. Check the balance.

"Huh, could have sworn it was later."

"Well, it ain't."

Start again. Take it all apart.

Rick leant his forearms onto the table cloth. His father had taught him well. He did not look at the gun with any apprehension or fear – it could as well have been a fork for all the attention he gave it. He saw the firearm for what it was: a collection of fitted metal, the sum of its parts.

A gun was nothing, really, with out a person behind it.

"Dad," he said.

"Mmm, son?" Still Sheriff Grimes did not look up from his task.

A muscle twitched in Rick's jaw. He shuffled his forearms further forward on the table so that he was leaning in closer towards his father.

"Dad," he repeated. This time, something in his tone, or his presence, must have alerted Sheriff Grimes and he looked up at his son.

"I need ya to listen to me," said Rick, quick and low, once he was sure he had secured his father's attention.

"You're going to tell me about that job you got at the Hannigan's garage now, ain't you?" his father said, dryly.

Rick looked suddenly nervous. The word's he had thought over for days muddled in his head. He glanced at his hands. Clasped them together. "I'm not going to tell ya anything," he said, with a rehearsed clarity. "I want to ask ya for help."

* * *

The interior of the Hannigan garage was still unprosperous and bare. There were tools and a bunch of useless car parts jammed onto the sparse shelving at the back and a dust covered car crouched low in one corner. It needed a new engine, but they didn't have the money to buy one in.

Chris was re-painting the peeling white picket fence at the bottom of the grass verge in front of the garage. He was bent low, the sun beating down on the bare skin of his neck when Sarah suddenly appeared behind him.

"I drew a picture."

He sighed, wiped his paint covered hands on his jeans and turned to face her. "Damn it, Sarah, I thought you were at school."

His eyes then drifted to the piece of paper in her hand. A diagram of the human body. Probably copied out of the textbook, but still, too accurate for the average eight year old. "Then again, school might be wasted time on you," he muttered.

"I still don't see why _I _have to go to school if _you _don't," Sarah said, not hearing.

"Because you have to be a certain age to earn the right to ruin your life – 'sides, someone's got to run this place."

She stuck her tongue out at him and Chris rolled his eyes and turned back to recommence painting the fence. She dropped to the ground, crossing her legs neatly and tore up fistfuls of grass before speaking again.

"Can we get a dog?"

"You're allergic."

"What about a cat or a goldfish?"

"What the jesus hell you want a fish for?"

"It would be cool."

Sarah got bored of anything that required more than an hour's attention span, but before he could point that out, she spoke again.

"Chris, there are two men in suits walking over to us."

He straightened up so fast, he thought he'd get whiplash. The brush dropped from his hand to the floor, the white paint bleeding into the ground.

Sure enough, two men in slate grey suits were making their way across the street towards them. Official looking, intimidating. Chris grit his jaw and grabbed Sarah's hand, pulling her up to stand slightly behind him.

"Don't say anything," he said in a low undertone, "just leave all th' talking to me, got it?"

"What?" She whispered, but it was too late to repeat the sentence with out being overheard. "Chris, what? What did you say?"

"Shut _up_."

"Hey son," the tallest man approached. One of his polished black shoes fell into the small puddle of white paint left by the paintbrush Chris had dropped, but he didn't notice. Just carried on walking towards them. "How's business?"

Chris wet his lips nervously. "Can't complain."

"You, er, you working on that car there?" the man said, nodding into the shadows of the garage where the Ford sat.

"Reckon I am."

"Yeah? What's it need doing to it?"

All these questions were making Chris antsy, and he could feel Sarah's hand tighten round his in her stress. "New engine."

"That's a bit difficult for a kid your age, isn't it?"

He bristled. "I can manage."

The guy's mouth flattened and his partner stepped forward. "This your sister?"

"Look, is this Inquisition or something? What the hell do you guys want?" Chris snapped. Sarah trembled at his side.

"Girl like that, she can only be, what, seven?" the second man continued as if he hadn't heard him.

"I'm eight," interjected Sarah, indignantly.

"Sorry – eight. Shouldn't she be in school?"

_Yes. _"She's ill," muttered Chris.

"No I'm –" he squeezed Sarah's hand hard to make her shut up.

"Really? She don't look ill to me."

"She gets headaches."

The first man – the brown haired one – crouched down in front of Sarah. She flinched slightly and every muscle in Chris's body went taught. He felt the blood push through his veins, the anger. He could only stand helpless for fear of making things worse.

"You know what, girl; I think I've got something you might like here…" the man said, and rummaged around in his jacket pocket. Everyone was entirely silent, and the sound of distant traffic and trucks trundling by on the nearby unevenly tarmacked roads was the only noise.

Eventually, a small piece of candy was procured and handed over. Sarah's face lit up.

"Real original," bit out Chris. "Bribe her with candy."

The Suit standing near him shot him a death glare.

"Sarah, I'm Heath Jackson," said the guy knelt in front of her. His tone had a distinctively kinder quality to it now and Chris cringed as he watched Sarah's guard visibly lower. "You don't know me, but you've met people like me every year when they've come to check up on you and your family since ya daddy died."

Sarah shook her head. "I've never met anyone like you before."

Chris bit the inside of his cheek so hard it bled. _Wrong answer_.

"And why'd that be?" mused the man. It almost seemed like he was talking to himself, but a hint of steel in his tone indicated he was addressing his colleague.

"Her brother does a damn good job of making sure her and her mom are out of the way when we come for a visit," the other man replied. "Didn't work so well this time, did it though, huh?" he sneered at Chris.

"I haven't got anything to fucking hide," Chris shot back, hands clenching into fists at his side. By nature, he resorted to throwing punches when backed into a corner like this, but his and Sarah's life in this town could depend on how he behaved now, so he resorted to verbal abuse instead. "I'm fine, she's fine, and you've seen all you need to see."

"We just want to ask your sister some questions."

"You got questions, you can ask me – not her."

"We can't trust you not to lie," the man called Heath said, bluntly, before turning back to face Sarah, who was now looking visibly agitated and distressed.

"Its okay honey, like I said to your brother, I'm just gonna ask you a few questions. Alright?"

She nodded.

"You like school much?"

A glance at Chris. Another small nod.

"But you don't go a lot, because you get headaches?"

A pause.

"You can talk, y'know," Heath Jackson said.

She cleared her throat, but Sarah's answer still only came out in little more than a throaty whisper. "No."

"No you don't get headaches, or no you don't go to school a lot?"

"The second one."

The man nodded, absently rubbing along his jaw line. His colleague glanced at Sarah, then at Chris, and then pulled the sleeve of his slate grey suit up to reveal a watch and he checked the time.

The questioning continued. "Your mom get headaches too?" Heath asked.

"Yes."

"Those headaches, probably makes her sick a lot, am I right?"

"Uhu."

"Because she drinks."

Sarah hesitated. "You mean like water?"

His mouth flattened out. "Does it make you upset when you see her ill?" he asked, changing tactics.

"Yes," Sarah said, so quiet it was almost imperceptible.

"Do you have to look after her when she's sick?"

"Sometimes, when she's really bad."

"But this sickness, it came after your Dad died, right? That liquor cupboard in your kitchen room or dining room or wherever it is – probably looked a whole lot more appealing to her than having to face the loneliness of raising two kids by herself."

"…I don't –"

"Do you think your mom does a good job of looking after you, or are you and your brother the ones looking after _her_."

"We only do it sometimes, but –"

"Sarah, when your mom was really _really _'sick' did she ever hit you, push you around when your brother wasn't at home?"

Suddenly, she seemed to realize what he meant. "She doesn't mean it," she cried. "She can't help it." Not realizing the denial was more than any other confirmation she could have given.

Heath straightened up. "Nothing kid's do justify abuse," he muttered. Then he turned to the other Suit and nodded to Chris and Sarah's little house above the garage "go and find the mom, we'll take the kids into protective custody."

The man moved and Chris quickly moved towards Sarah, who had already started crying. It started as a low whine, but quickly choked sobs and words tumbled out of her mouth. "Chris," she cried, holding her arms up. He sighed, pulling her up into his arms and she wrapped her legs round his waist like a monkey. "What's happening Chris? I don't – I didn't –"

He hushed her, bouncing her slightly as he'd seen his mother do for her when Sarah had been younger and times were happier. "Shhh, Sarah. Ain't nothing wrong…"

But he couldn't tear his eyes from their house as the Suit entered it.

The man called Heath Jackson stood next to them. "So what happens now?" Chris asked him, tonelessly.

He felt nothing. Was empty. No shock, no horror. He'd figured that one day they'd be caught.

Jackson looked at him sympathetically. "We take you and your sister back to the station," he said. "Try and find a close relative to place you with."

"I meant to my mother."

He paused. "Your mother will be given eighteen months to attempt to regain custody. She'll go through counseling and have to go to court for regular review. To be honest though –"

"-she's won't attempt to get me and Sarah back," said Chris, something glinting in his eyes. "No matter what she says."

There was a tiny whimper from Sarah and Chris sighed, juggling her a little in his arms so that she was in a more comfortable position. "I don't want them to take Mom away," she said to him, teary.

"They have to Sar."

"I'm sorry about not going to school, Chris. I thought if I didn't go I could stay and keep you and Mom company –"

"This isn't your fault," he said, more firmly.

Rage slowly built in him. He wanted them to pay. The system – for fucking Sarah up so irreversibly that she somehow thought this whole twisted situation was her fault - the social services, his _mother_.

And like open-sesame, she appeared. The Suit was guiding her out of their house, pushing her forwards. She was already half-way drunk and speaking loudly.

"What are you doing? What's –"

"We're taking your children into protective custody, ma'am. It's for their own good."

"I don't-" Mrs Hannigan caught sight of her son and daughter, standing on the lawn next to a strange man she'd never seen before. Her blonde hair was in disarray. She looked wild, confused. "Chris?" she said, frantic. "What did you tell them?"

He didn't reply, and Heath Jackson gently attempted to lead the siblings away and towards one of the two police cruisers parked across the street. "Sarah!"

"Mommy!" Sarah called out, suddenly struggling in Chris's arms.

"Sarah, c'mon, don't –"

"_Where are you taking my children_?!"

"MOM!" The primitive wail was ripped from Sarah's throat in a tone sometimes referred to as a scream, but really didn't come anywhere close. "MOM!"

Chris gritted his teeth. He wanted to cover his ears, but his arms were busy trying to contain his sister. Jackson opened the cruiser door and hurriedly assured them in.

"I'm sorry, son," he said, but Chris didn't have time to reply – too preoccupied with trying to dull his sister's pain.

(Present Day) Day 64

_Click_

_Click. _

Sarah started as the group suddenly all readied their guns and pointed them at something behind her. She whirled round.

It was Jenner.

"Wait!" she cried, stepping into the no-man's land of space between them. "Wait!"

"Who are you?" Rick yelled, not lowering his gun. His gaze flickered between Sarah and the man behind her.

Jenner didn't answer his question. "Any of you infected?"

"_Damn it_, Ed, put the gun down!" Sarah broke in, not sure whether she was scared because Rick had a gun pointed at _Jenner_, or Jenner had a gun pointed at _Rick_. Through some little joke of God, though, he ignored her.

"One of our crew was…he didn't make it," Rick replied, swallowing heavily. She noticed the pain in his eyes, but couldn't help but focus on her own – lodged in her chest; a hot knot of pain, as hard as unmined coal and lodged just as soundly.

"Why are you _here_?" Sarah she said, her voice almost accusatory. "What do you want?"

He stared at her hard. "A chance."

She snorted. Backed away to stand by Jenner. _No_, she thought.

"If you stay here," Ed told Rick. "You all have to submit to blood tests."

Sarah's eyebrows shot up and she turned to look at Jenner. "Look at you," she murmured under her breath. "Thought you'd given up on finding a cure?"

"I have," he muttered back, curtly. "I'm checking if any of them are infected."

"When he just said that they weren't?"

Ed stared at her intently before saying: "You need to stop being so trusting."

"And you need to know when to have a little faith," she snapped back, irritation boiling in her. "Stop making out that I'm so weak."

"Don't pull the outraged-feminist on me," Jenner snapped.

"Then stop giving off your little 'we're-all-going-to-die-so-what's-the-point?' vibes," she snarled back. "It's getting old."

Rick's group stared at the pair of scientists and the obvious confrontation they were having in hushed tones. Sarah's hands were balled up at her sides; Jenner's knuckles were white round his grip on the shotgun.

"We can do that," Rick spoke up, trying to diffuse the tension as he answered the male scientist's question.

Jenner turned. Nodded. He tried to ignore how much Sarah's words seemed to be echoes of Candace as he gazed at the group of people before him; these people who were trying to survive just _because_.

But they wouldn't be trying to survive if they knew what he did.

That, as they stood there, pushing through their veins at that very moment, was the virus that would kill them all. Waiting, like some sort of sick jack-in-a-box, to be triggered.

And that was when Jenner made his decision. "You got anything to bring in, get it now. Once these doors close, they stay closed."

He could feel Sarah's eyes on him like a weight. "We've got to let them out before tomorrow - . Remember," she pushed quietly. "We've got to all get out before then."

He marveled that, for once, she hadn't been able to see through him. "Of course," he said, smoothly.

Edwin Jenner once again looked at that group of people. At the two children. And then at Sarah.

He was saving them. Her.

They didn't _know_ - they didn't _understand_.

He was saving them.

* * *

"How do you have enough power for this place?" asked a tall blonde haired woman as the group were led underground.

"We don't," said Sarah, not glancing at the woman as they all made their way down a large corridor. She and Jenner, did, though, share a small conspiratle glance. "the generator'll run out sooner or later. We shut the power down on Zone's 1-4 about two weeks ago to conserve energy. Zone 5 and 6 are the only accessibly places now."

Everyone fell back into silence.

The group seemed to be simultaneously fascinated and wary of the CDC. Each of them would shoot several questions at her and Jenner before backing off again, still evidently and inexplicably unsatisfied with the information they'd gathered.

Sarah could only imagine a world that had caused these people to become so suspicious, and every now and then she found herself not only glancing at Rick, but at the mother with the shortly cropper hair, the Chinese boy and the salt-and-peppered haired old man, wondering what their stories were. What they'd all gone through.

Had they seen the undead face to face?

Sarah guessed that they must have – by now the walkers must outnumber humans 10000:1. Outside, they would be everywhere.

Ed led them all into the Control room. "Vi!" he yelled. "Bring up the lights in the big room."

An artificial glare illuminated the impressive space and Sarah saw the wine bottles that she and Jenner had been drinking from littering the floor to her left.

"Where is everybody?" Rick asked, his voice echoing. "The other doctors and staff?"

Sarah remembered the huge trucks that had taken her colleagues away. She remembered those that had stayed and died. She remembered seeing the list of destroyed CDC's.

When Jenner's words came, they made her feel lonelier than she had felt in weeks. "We're it," he said, moving to stand in the middle of the room. Sarah stood to the side, arms folded. She could feel Rick's eyes on her and she looked up to meet his gaze momentarily. "It's just us here."

"What about the person you were speaking with? Vi?" asked the woman with long, brown hair. Rick's wife.

It felt weird that they'd both grown up; got job's and (in his case) got married. When you never expected to see someone again they seemed to stay fifteen years old in your mind forever. Seeing Rick now was so physically and mentally jarring, Sarah could barely comprehend it.

At the end of the world she'd found _him_.

"Vi," called out Ed, who stood - like some sort of thinly veiled omen – in front of the digital clock that counted down the seconds until the generator died. "Say hello to our guests…tell them…welcome."

"_Hello guests_," came Vi's female, robotic voice. "_Welcome_."

There was a brief silence and Sarah sighed, uncrossing her arms. "I don't know what you expected," she said, looking at each individual. "But the break down of society happened on all levels…even here."

"I'm sorry," added Jenner. Something she hadn't felt compelled to add.

He paused for a second, looking distracted, and when Sarah realized he wasn't about to speak up, she nodded to the door to her right that led through to a small conference room. "This way."

The group filed into the room, and as Jenner passed she touched his arm briefly. "Ed, you okay?"

He looked at her for a second, seemingly torn over something before nodding. She didn't buy it.

Predictably, the group still resisted to giving blood even when Rick had said they would. After Sarah prepped a few vials, carefully labeled each, and snapped some latex gloves onto her hands, she readied the needles and indicated to the red-neck guy to take a seat.

He was probably a bad first choice. The man seemed to be the most suspicious out of all of them and was only a few inches shorter than Jenner – but more heavily muscled.

He glanced at the syringe in Sarah's hand and then at her with an obvious mistrust.

"What are you, a fucking doctor?" he snarled.

"No, I'm a fucking scientist," she shot back, irritably. "So shut up and sit down."

His mouth flattened into a hard line, but he did as she'd told him and didn't even flinch when she found a descent looking vein and inserted the needle into his forearm.

Well practiced in taking blood, Sarah was done in about thirty seconds. Before she called up the next person, however, her eyes caught the vial full of blood she'd just taken. Floating in there, tiny, unseeable to the human eye was the disease that had wiped out most of humanity.

The knowledge that it was swimming through her veins made her hyper-aware of her own body.

"What's the point? If we were all infected we'd all be running a fever."

Sarah pretended to act casually as the blonde women – she though she'd heard someone call her Andrea – spoke to Jenner. Inside her something tightened, though, waiting to see how Ed would cover everything up.

"…I've already broken every rule in the book letting you in here, let me at least by thorough," he said. Not really an answer at all.

A subtle, but tangible, ripple occurred through out the group. They shifted uneasily in their seats and Sarah knew instantly what they were thinking – _what rules had been broken? _

She felt Shane looking at her, but determinedly avoided his gaze.

"You wanna come up?" she asked of the young girl a little in front of her. Reflex reaction, the girl's mother slid her arm around her, clutching her tightly.

"Does she have to," the woman asked, becoming her daughter's mouthpiece. "She's terrified of needles."

Sarah glanced at Jenner. "I'm sorry, but everyone has to summit to a blood test. It won't hurt," she added, lamely, as she tried to reassure the young girl who'd quickly gone white underneath her freckles.

As she'd told the red-neck, though, she wasn't a doctor or a nurse, she was a scientist. She could draw blood, but it didn't mean she had the best bedside manner.

It didn't matter though, the mother instinctively seemed to know what to do and Sarah wondered at this – how easily it came to her. "I won't let go of your hand," the woman promised her daughter. "I'll be right here."

"What's your name," Sarah asked, gently, in an attempt to distract the girl as she sat down and Sarah strapped a rubber tourniquet round her upper arm.

"Sophia."

Sarah readied the syringe.

"You're going to feel a slight pinch."

But Sophia was already crying and flinching away as Sarah moved towards her with the needle.

"Mom," she cried, and at a glance from Sarah the woman sighed and held her daughter's shoulders in a way that was both intended to comfort and cage – holding her in place.

"Mom, I don't want to, I really don't want to –"

Sarah took a deep breath, hardening herself against Sophia's cries, and slid the needle in.

"Mom!" the young girl cried out. "_MOM!_"

Sophia struggled in her mother's grip and Sarah flinched visibly.

"_Mommy!" _

"_Sarah, c'mon, don't –" _

"_**Where are you taking my children?!" **_

"_MOM_! MOM!"

She didn't know which was worse: the memory, or the young girl's cries.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm really sorry."

She didn't take as much blood as she normally would have – barely enough to fill a quarter of the vial – all the same, she couldn't help but feel sick to the pit of her stomach.

1989

Chris was struggling to shake off the feeling of latent claustrophobia that he was getting from just sitting inside of the police car.

He'd always figured that when he wound up in one of these things, it would be for a different reason than he and his sister getting forcibly emancipated from their own mother.

Fuck, he wished he could have seen this coming. Normally he knew when the Suits would arrive; could force Sarah to school and hide his mother away before they saw anything he didn't want them to see. Except this time, they'd somehow already _known _about everything– it was just a matter of rooting them all out.

The anger was insidious, subtle; licking its way through his veins like liquid fire. He kept his eyes on the sidewalk flashing past the opposite side of the car window so he wouldn't have to look at Sarah and feel like he'd let her down.

And then Chris saw something outside that made his hands fist round the door handle so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Stop the car," he said, but the fact that his throat was only half as wide as usual meant that his voice was barely louder than a murmur.

The car continued to move…further away from the spot he had been looking at.

The anger overflowed with in Chris. "_Stop the car!_" he yelled, and before Jackson had even hit the brakes he'd thrown open the door and was running across the road like a loaded sprinter, weaving through traffic with the sound of horns blaring all around him.

"Hey!" he yelled, sprinting down the sidewalk. "_Hey_!"

* * *

Rick Grimes heard a voice calling and the sound of car horns.

He stopped, and made one of those unconscious decisions you make that change your life forever. Like choosing to walk into the shop where you'll meet your future wife, or jumping the intersection on a red light, not seeing the van coming from your right at high speed.

Rick Grimes made one of _those _kinds of decisions.

He turned around.

* * *

"Hey!" Chris yelled once more.

And that time it worked. The boy with dark, curly hair rotated slowly on the spot and Chris could now see his face – it _was _Rick.

The moment Rick's eyes met his, something glinted there – Rick knew that _Chris _knew – and he reached a hand forward, to gain more time – maybe to explain _why_. But in one, fluid motion, Chris's fist had already connected with the side of his face.

Rick staggered, tripping backwards.

"_Fuck_," he yelled, spitting blood onto the curb as he centered himself and raised his sleeve to cover his split lip.

"Why did you do it?!" Chris demanded.

"Because she can't live here anymore."

Chris's fist flew out again and clipped Rick in the face. Now he could hear yelling – passers-by shouting angrily. He didn't care, all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.

"What gave you the right to decide that for her? Us?!" he screamed out. "Who the _hell _do you think you are?"

"I was trying to help –"

Chris could hear Heath Jackson yelling, quickly approaching them.

He wasn't sure who he was more angry at: Rick, for getting them taken away from their Mom, or himself, for not having the guts to make that decision for them himself.

"Well aren't you a cop in the making," he spat, regarding Rick bitterly. "Standing up for what's right – fucking brilliant. Really outstanding, Rick." He searched deep inside of himself for some kind of cutting last words, but all he could come up with was: "You asshole."

(Present Day) Day 64

Sarah drank too much, she knew that.

The group were all sat around a table, enjoying their food and she just couldn't help it.

She was sat a little separate from them, next to Ed who seemed to be nursing some serious issues of his own.

The group seemed to be so _happy_ and the meal was shit – she wasn't going to lie. She'd given them the lousy cheap wine that she and Ed had been drinking for the past week since all the good stuff had run out, and yet the people before her seemed to be acting as if it was the best food and drink they'd had in the world.

Maybe it was – in _this _version of the world.

The more they seemed to value the safety of the walls around them, the more it made Sarah question what the outside must be like.

"So when are you going to tell us what the hell happened here, Doc."

Shane's voice cut through the merriment and everyone went silent. Sarah's grip tightened a little on the stem of her wineglass. "All the other Doctor's that were supposed to be figuring things out…" Shane continued. "What the hell happened to them?"

"They're dead." Sarah spat, emotion bubbling within her as she remembered that _week _where everything had just fallen apart.

Shane looked at her.

"Except you two. Why?"

"Shane…" Rick broke in, glancing at Sarah. "Don't."

"No, Rick, he wants to know," she snapped. "So we'll tell him."

Sarah didn't realize that the familiarity with which she had spoken Rick's name had already roused suspicions.

That for him, it was almost surreal seeing Shane's bitterness reflected equally in Sarah, and yet completely differently at the same time.

Luckily it was Jenner that explained everything to the group - his measured tone cutting across the surface of her anger, centering her once more. "Well when things got bad, a lot of people just…left." _Alex_. "Went off to be with their families. And when things got worse - when the military got overrun - the others bolted."

"Every last one?" Shane asked, pointedly.

Sarah shook her head. "Some of us felt, that…if we should die, here, trying to find a cure…at least we could then die with dignity. Saying that we tried."

"You felt like it was your duty?" questioned Andrea, brow furrowed.

"I felt that…I owed it to a lot of people," said Sarah, and already half-way drunk, she admitted: "my first vaccine trial killed a man. His brother told me that if I didn't find a cure, then he would have died in vain – that I had murdered him for no point."

"There were also some," added Jenner. "Unlike us, who just couldn't face walking out the door, either. But then again, they didn't want to stay. They…opted out. There was a rash of suicides," his voice grew thick. "That was a bad time."

Sarah swallowed heavily. She could remember - clearly - waking up some mornings and going to find her colleagues in their rooms.

Finding a spray of blood and brain matter up the walls and a dead body on the floor. Another one gone.

She and Jenner had had to cremate the bodies in the labs; hauling them in and then deliberately spilling toxic chemicals to set off the decontamination process and send the room up in flames.

"You didn't leave, either," Andrea said, looking at Jenner. "Why?"

"I just kept working…Sarah forced me to keep on hoping that we would do some good" he admitted, and Sarah smiled, her hand slipping into his and she squeezed slightly. It came down to this, she figured; categorically you could choose to hope, or not to. Ed wasn't fooling her when he'd claimed he was in the first category, the pressure of her hand on his told him that.

And for some unknown reason, his words seemed to hold weight with Andrea. Her gaze held his for a few seconds before she looked away again.

After that, dinner was quiet. Jenner showed them all to the showers and once everyone was gone and he'd turned around, he saw Sarah leaning against a wall, staring at him.

"Are you going to pack?"

"For what?"

"…for _leaving_. _Tomorrow_. Christ, Ed, what's gotten into you? You've barely spoken to me."

"Is that unusual behavior?"

"Yeah. It's normally _me _that doesn't speak to _you_."

Jenner shook his head and began to walk down the corridor. Sarah shrugged off of the wall, falling into step next to him.

"That was a nice speech at dinner. Duty? You even almost had _me _believing you."

"It was the truth. I believe what I preach."

"Yeah, well, you may be brilliant, but your not _that _brilliant, Hannigan. Once you're out of here, there's no labs, no equipment. Unless you magically find the cure tonight you're never going to find it."

"Ed, let's not start this again."

"Fine. How do you know the Sheriff?"

"How do _you _know I know the Sheriff?"

"It was obvious."

"Okay, I grew up in the same town as him, _that's _how I know him."

"Right. I won't ask."

"Good."

They carried on walking.

"Are you okay...about leaving?"

"Yeah."

"Because I know…Candace – I just, I saw how you acted around those two kids – you were thinking about her, weren't you?"

"Hannigan, shut up."

She stopped walking abruptly. "You're clearly not in the mood for a conversation so I'm going to go pack." Her eyes held his. "Make sure you do, too."

* * *

Sarah was walking back to her room when she heard a choking sound.

"Hey," she yelled, banging on the door to the room where the noise had originated from. "Hey – are you okay in there?"

Her reply was another terrible retching sound, and Sarah nudged the door, realizing it was open.

She jimmied the lock to the bathroom and inside she found Andrea huddled over the toilet pathetically.

"It's alright," Sarah said, calmly as she dropped to her knees beside the crying woman. "You haven't eaten enough in days; your stomach's not used to the amount you just ate."

Andrea shook her head, but before she could speak, she retched violently again.

"Andrea?" a male voice called. Sarah looked up to see the grandfatherly man appear in the room. "Is she okay?" he asked Sarah, approaching hurriedly.

But Andrea fell back from the toilet, leaning heavily against the wall. "It's gone, Dale," she said, between sobs. Her face was still damp with sweat and tears, her hair tangled. The man named Dale crouched down in front of her at the same time Sarah stood, hovering in the corner of the room - unsure of whether to stay or go.

"That's good; it's the wine coming up."

"I don't mean the wine, Dale. It's over…there's nothing left."

Sarah froze. Suddenly understanding. These people, they had placed so much hope in the CDC – that some form of government, at least, was still standing.

"This is a new chance, Andrea –"

"Don't you see what I'm saying? Didn't you see the look on Jenner's face?" Andrea's eyes found Sarah. "Tell us," she demanded. "How bad is it? There's nothing left, is there? Tell us!"

"I can't," Sarah said, backing away, trying to get out of the room. "I'm sorry."

"Tell us!" Andrea cried after her. "We have a _right _to know godammit! Tell us!"

Sarah stood for a second before striding back into the bathroom, dropping onto her knees in front of Andrea and grabbing her hands. "As long as there is still the possibility of a cure," she said, her grey eyes burning. "There is still something left. Please, try to remember that."

"I don't want your false hope," Andrea spat, tearing her hands out of Sarah's as fresh tears rolled down her face. "Tell us, how bad is this?"

Sarah glanced at her, then at Dale and realized that Andrea was right – these people had come here looking for answers, they_ did _need to know.

"It's worldwide." She swallowed. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

After living underground in the CDC for a little over two months, Sarah had no idea how to prepare herself for the outside world again.

She didn't know what she needed to pack, how _much _she needed to pack; whether she and Jenner would be going with Rick's group or if they'd be splitting apart and going by themselves.

She'd got three bags – the one full of guns that the military had left, and the one with a few clothes in and what little food she could salvage from the kitchen and finally – and perhaps most importantly – the one with a few blood samples in and scientific equipment. Spread over a table in front of her was a map of the surrounding area. She figured it would be best to aim for areas nearby relatively isolated towns – that way they'd be near a food source, but away from less concentrated areas of walkers.

Sarah pressed the pads of her thumbs into her closed eyes. _You're not ready for this, _she told herself. _You can't even shoot a gun_.

And - out of some kind of sick sentimentality - Sarah suddenly thought of the hand axe that she'd picked up all those weeks ago when she was looking for Alex Ramm. Lying discarded in the corner of the room, she picked it up. It was just as heavy as she remembered it to be, and she fingered the wicked, broad, half-moon blade contemplatively.

"What are you doing?"

Sarah dropped the axe on top of her luggage and turned around.

Her heart clenched. Standing in the doorway to her room was Rick.

"So, what, you're talking to me now?" she asked, folding her arms as if that would create a natural barrier between them.

"Sarah…"

"Don't 'Sarah' me, Rick. I want answers. I want to know why you won't talk to me. I want to know why you couldn't even bring yourself to look me in the eye until now."

She noticed the wine bottle in his hand and the way he couldn't stand straight and her mouth fell into a grimace. "You're drunk."

"Liquid courage," he said, vaguely.

Sarah struggled for a second as a lump former in her throat. "It's been _twenty one years_, Rick – how could it have been that long since we last saw each other?"

His eyes found hers – so blue, that she felt she was seeing through him, and into the sky she hadn't seen in so long. "It doesn't feel like twenty one years," he admitted, stepping closer.

"You're doing an awfully good job of dodging my question."

"And you're more hostile than I seem to remember." Rick used a hand to steady himself on the table before slipping down to sit on the floor. With a moment's hesitation, Sarah moved and sat next to him. "What do you remember from the day you left?" he asked, quietly; not looking at her.

She winced. "I remember my Mom getting taken away. I remember sitting in the back of a police car…" she bit her lip. "I remember Chris punching you in the face."

"Why do you think he did it?"

"I don't _know_, Rick," Sarah snapped, suddenly angry as his words unexpectedly touched a nerve. "I was _eight_. I don't remember."

"You do. You just deliberately don't want to understand."

"I _deliberately _don't want to understand –"

"Why do you think Chris punched me that day, Sarah?"

Sarah sighed. Deflating. "Because it was you," she murmured. "You told the police about me and Chris. You were the reason we were sent to Boston to live with our Aunt."

Words, that Jenner had spoken weeks ago echoed from the past to her now; and finally – _finally _– Sarah understood why Ed had shot Candace. Why Rick had told the social services about her mother. "You cared for me so much," she said. "You had to let me go."

"You don't blame me?"

"Rick, if I had stayed in King County I would never have achieved half the things I have now. You did the right thing."

A weight seemed to physically lift itself off of his shoulders.

"What about you?" Sarah continued. "You stayed in King County?"

"You act like that's a bad thing."

"Not a bad thing…just…a claustrophobic thing. You never left."

"Did you expect me to?"

"You forget that when I knew you, you were going through your teenage rebellion stage. Working at the garage to prove to your Dad that you didn't have to be a cop."

"Well you didn't exactly turn out like I'd expected, either. What happened to being an astronaut?" he teased.

"I inhaled," Sarah laughed. "Set my sights on something a little more realistic."

She caught Rick staring at her with such intensity; she completely forgot what she was planning to say next. "You're so different," he murmured.

"I grew up," she said, lightly. "It happens."

"All I'm saying is its going to take a lot of getting used to."

Sarah held her breath for a second. "Rick…when you leave with your group…I won't be coming with you. You won't _have _to get used to me."

"If you think I'm leaving you again –"

"_I'm _not leaving Ed. And at the moment I can't see him going with you so…we'll go by ourselves."

A muscle in Rick's jaw jumped as he remembered how Sarah had taken Ed's hand over dinner. "Are you two –"

"We're not together, if that's what your asking," she said, coolly. "He had a wife who worked here."

"She went with the other doctor's?" Rick asked, incredulously.

"…No. No…She died."_ Because of me_.

He sighed, taking another long gulp from whatever was in the bottle in his hand. "You don't understand what it's like out there," he muttered. "It's not safe for you."

"Is it safe for anyone?" she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He didn't reply, and the two settled into comfortable silence.

"How did we find each other after _twenty one _years?!" Rick laughed, after a few minutes.

Sarah didn't reply for a long time. When she did, her voice was low and husky. "Fate?"

There was a vicious, tense silence. "Let's not go down that road, Sarah," Rick said after a while as images of Lori flashed through his mind like a warning signal.

She sighed and stood up and brushed her jeans off. "Something to think on," she said, quietly, and left.

* * *

**A/N **This was almost too depressing to write. So many emotions and crazy end-of-the-world angst feelings.

Remember to **review**!

Last Of The Lilac Wine


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N **Okay this is the crazy chapter in which everything blows up. Literally.

Story **Rated T **for graphic violence, swearing and mild sexual situations.

* * *

**CHAPTER 6**

* * *

"_L__ook at me. We're survivors. We control the fear. And without the fear, we are all as good as dead. Do you understand? - Do you?__"_

_Lawless (2012)_

* * *

Interpersonal relationships are determined by so many things. Volatility, pressure; nature.

Some relationships are highly unstable and dangerous; some are rare but produce something entirely unexpected.

It is understandable, then, when one compares human _interactions_ to chemical _reactions_. The factors affecting both are exactly the same.

* * *

Day 64

Lori took another sip from her glass.

The wine was rich and full; like velvet.

She dragged her fingers over the spines of the books in front of her, her touch as light as a moth's – daring herself to believe this was all real. That they were safe.

A door slamming startled her and she whirled round.

"Jesus you scared me," she gasped out as she saw Shane. But her heart continued to race and Lori had to wonder if she had made the right choice of words. _You scare me_.

"I'm going to tell you a few things and you're gunna listen," Shane slurred out, and she realized he was far more drunk than she had originally thought.

Lori grit her teeth. She wanted this secret buried deep where it could never be heard of again. She wanted to forget everything. As she looked at Shane she realized her shame out-weighed her feelings to him; her gratitude and – she'd admit – her love for him.

"Now is not the time."

"C'mon there's never a good time."

She shut her eyes briefly. "Shane –"

"How can you treat me like this?!"

"Because you _lied_. You told me my husband was dead!"

"Don't give me that Lori – you don't know what it was like there. People were shooting. I had you and Carl to think about and when I listened…when I listened for Rick's heart beat there wasn't one. Okay? _There wasn't one_. I thought he was _dead_!"

"So you left him?"

Suddenly he gripped her shoulders, his eyes boring into hers. "If the roles were reversed –" he said, speaking very low and very fast. "What would you have done - if you were there, and Carl was out in King County somewhere? What would you have done?"

Lori shook her head, barely able to comprehend what he was asking her. "Get off of me." But Shane still persisted, emotion and frustration colouring his voice as his fingers dug into her shoulders. "Who would you have chosen, huh? If…if Rick didn't have a heart beat and Carl was out there somewhere. If you were in my position, what would you have done?"

"If the roles were reversed," Lori said, the words feeling strange on her lips. "It would be completely different - Carl's my _son, _Shane. I love him, I'd do anything to protect him. Anything -"

"- you think I wouldn't do anything to protect you? You think I don't love you in the same way? Carl? I was there when he was born. I've seen him grow up just like you have. It's _exactly _the same, Lori – you just won't admit it to yourself. You're _blind_ -"

"Stop it! Let go of me!"

"You're _blind_. You're lying to Rick. You're lying to _yourself_ -"

"Shane let. Me. Go." They were both shouting now, Lori struggling to get away from him as Shane ranted out the very thing she'd been trying to bury: the truth.

"Your in denial – you've spent so long lying you don't know how to stop!"

"I'm doing this to protect my family!"

She used to love how Shane could do this. Argue back in a way the Rick never would. Dig past everything to the very heart of things. Now it was just torture.

"That's bullshit – you're doing this for you! You're trying to keep everything the way it was, Lori – your trying too hard to hold on to your cosy little family life and it's not going to last. The world's changed. People have _changed_."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You think I can't see it but I can. You don't feel that way about him. You don't love him anymore –"

Lori's hand moved so fast that both of them could barely register the movement. She slapped Shane hard across the face – so hard that his neck snapped to the side – and as she stood, trembling, she saw the red five fingered hand print begin to bloom on his cheek.

"Don't you _dare_," she said, her voice shaking. "Say that I don't love my husband."

She wondered, for a second, if he would hit her back, but he just stood, utterly silent – Lori never knowing that Shane bore the knowledge that could bring the façade of her marriage to its knees.

Day 65 (7 hours until decontamination)

Sarah's eyes snapped open at 4.30 that morning with astonishing clarity. There was no post-sleep haziness, and she blinked a few times to test her new-found feeling of alertness before slipping out of bed quietly. She moved through the silent corridors of the CDC – her body taking her down a path she'd trod hundreds of times before – towards the few remaining labs with access to power.

"You're up early."

Sarah blinked at Ed as she stood at the entrance to Lab 2; he was sat at a desk with his back to her, and she shook her head quickly, shrugging a clean white lab coat on over her sweatpants and t shirt. "So are you," she deflected.

"Someone had to do the blood analysis."

"At 4 in the morning?"

Sarah walked over to stand at Jenner's shoulder and peered at the selection of blood smears in a neat row before him. It wasn't exactly blood; the liquid part of the blood was called plasma, it clotted outside of the body and the liquid part that remained was pure gold to Sarah and Ed.

Serum.

It was the cocktail of proteins, antibodies, antigens and hormones of the body. It was from here that Sarah and Ed managed to extract the virus and look at it under a microscope properly, and it was from here that they hoped to make some kind of vaccine.

Ed turned in his seat to look at Sarah. "You want me to do this in front of all of them? 'By the way I'm just testing your blood because you're all already infected?' Like that would have gone down well."

"Point," Sarah conceded. "But you're going to have to tell them sometime anyway."

He stared at her. "What?"

"What do you mean 'what?' We can't just send them off and then suddenly one of them gets shot and reanimates. We've got to warn them."

He passed a hand over his eyes, looking tired. "Right."

She sighed. "I seriously can't believe you stayed up all night to do this. Have you found out anything new?"

" -No."

"That's what I thought," She muttered, sitting down at a nearby computer and logging on; stretching until she heard a few joints in her back pop. "Let's see what ideas I can come up with today to kill this bitch of a virus."

"Sarah –"

"_What_?"

Jenner merely nodded towards a clock hanging on the wall. It wasn't _the _clock, but it still served as a reminder to her. Sarah swore, suddenly realizing why she'd woken up feeling so alert – her survival instinct had probably just kicked in with one hell of a vengeance.

"I keep forgetting about the fucking timer."

"You've got about seven hours left, so get some work done."

"Hey! _We've _got about seven hours left."

He chuckled, holding up his hands. "I've just done a six hour stint staring down a microscope. It's _your _turn now."

She rolled her eyes, turning back to the computer. "Whatever. Go drink some coffee, Ed."

She heard him get up and leave and turned her attention fully to the screen in front of her. "Okay…" she murmured. "What to do?"

The internet had been down for over a month, but luckily the computers still had old case files that Vi had backed up for them which Sarah could still draw some ideas off of. She brought a few files up on screen and scanned them quickly, mentally choosing a few.

"Vi!" she yelled. "Print off the case studies for the Naked DNA vaccine, the Killed vaccine, and the Toxoid vaccine. Send them to the printed at Lab 2."

"Of course," came Vi's cool voice, and promptly Sarah could hear the whirring and clatter of the printer from the corner of the room. As she moved to collect the papers, though, something caught the corner of Sarah's eye. She frowned.

To her right, a light on a computer monitor was flashing. It wasn't like Ed to just leave something running like that – waste fuel - and she reached over to turn it off, accidentally nudging the mouse as she did so. The screen flickered to life, and abruptly she was faced with a paused video, Jenner's face staring up at her.

"_Day 64,"_ came his voice, as the video played. "_The TS19 samples are gone. The tragedy of their loss cannot be overstated…they were our freshest samples by far…none of the other samples we gathered even came close. Those are necrotic, useless dead flesh." _

He paused, and Sarah swallowed heavily. She could feel her heart clenching, her nerve endings tingling slightly, because this was Jenner and it wasn't Jenner. There was something off about him, something deadened, and as he continued to speak Sarah's bad feeling intensified._ "I don't even know why I'm talking to you. I bet there isn't a single son-of-a-bitch out there still listening, is there? Is there? Fine. Saves me the embarrassment. I think tomorrow I'm gunna blow my brains out. I haven't decided." _He glanced somewhere off screen before saying_: "But tonight, I'm getting drunk." _

The video stopped abruptly, and Sarah barely had time to collect her thoughts before it rolled on to a new one – this time from about 1 AM this morning.

"_Day 65," _said Jenner, looking haggard. _"I don't know why I keep doing this to myself. Maybe saying it out loud drives the knife in a little deeper. A group showed up tonight...looking for civilization." _He snorted. _"I don't know what they expected to find here. Some kind of salvation. I tested their blood samples. All of them are infected – there is…..11 hours until facility decontamination. We have no hope of finding a cure. There is no hope for humanity. All I can hope to do is lessen the pain and horror of their deaths. _Computer-Jenner shook his head and looked down briefly before glancing back at the web-cam, his voice now sardonic. _When I became a Doctor, I made a vow – 'first do no harm'. I guess at the end of the world those kind of rules don't apply now. _He paused, obviously collecting himself as he let out a long breath. _I've changed the password to all the computer systems. This is in the event that Sarah – Dr Hannigan - should try to override the controls and prevent me from stopping the group from leaving. I plan to lock them in here. Death by HIT, I figure, is a better way to go then being mauled by the living dead. _

_This will be my last video log, and I hope – if anyone finds this – that you know that we tried. God, we really tried. _

Suddenly the screen zeroed and went black.

"I'm sorry." Sarah whirled round to see Jenner standing behind her. He was holding a mug and he settled it on the table before straightening fully once more to meet her gaze. He looked so…_calm_. "I never thought it would end like this." He took a step forward, and sighed when Sarah backed up, her eyes wide. "I'm not letting anyone out, Sarah. This…hope…that you've been clinging to – this pathological coping strategy – is just acting as a smoke screen that you can't seem to see past. There's nothing for you up there. No life you deserve. Just horror and death and pain and you don't have to live through that." His gaze softened. "I know you feel guilty. I know you feel you owe it to so many people to find this vaccine, but you _don't_. That weight doesn't rest on your shoulders. It's not your duty. It's not _anybody's _duty because it's not possible. I let Candace go. Now I have to do the same to you, and you to me. Let _go_, Sarah. Please."

His words didn't register at first, but when they started to Sarah could feel her face grow hot, her eyes burn and an ache in her throat like somebody had lodged a hot coal in there.

_Pathological coping strategy. _

_Pain and guilt and death. _

_Not your duty. _

She wanted to hit Jenner.

She wanted to throw something; scream – _move_. But she remained frozen in place.

"I care about you –" Jenner started again.

"You're lying" she cut over him, her voice barely louder than whisper. "You can't be serious. I trusted you –" her voice broke only to return with a strength born by incredulity and disbelief. "_I trusted you_, and after everything we've been through together –"

"Please just listen to me. You need to face reality, Sarah. I –"

"Why?" She had her arms hugged round herself as if she were afraid she was going to fall apart. "When did you make the decision to kill me? Did you just look at me one day and decide my life wasn't worth it? I'm not worth it? I'm not - Jesus _Christ_, Ed –" crying. Sobs that wracked her whole body.

"Doing this to you…was the hardest decision I ever had to make."

"Harder than shooting your own wife? Harder than having to look that little boy and girl in the eye when they came in here knowing you'd kill them? How can you look at their _parents_?" _Rick_, she suddenly thought. _Rick_. _You only just met him again._ "You're a _monster_!"

"You're right," Ed said, easily. And Sarah's whole thought process stopped suddenly as she stared at him in shock. "I am. I am the kind of thing that this new world creates. Evil breeds worse evils. If you go out there, you're going to encounter more terrible things than walkers – that I can promise you."

"I'm strong –"

"Nobody's strong enough for that," he said, firmly. "We've lived our lives in a world with civilization and society. With doctor's and fossil fuels. We aren't made to live in this kind of world."

"Evolution," she offered, pathetically.

"Took millions of years."

Sarah rested her elbows on her knees and rested her head between her legs like she'd seen people do when they were about to faint.

"Survival for the human race is going to be short-term," Jenner said, his words washing over her. "Twenty years, one or two generations, maybe. But in the long-term? When the fuel runs out? The abandoned food in the supermarkets? What about medicine and vaccinating new-borns against disease? What –"

"Okay, you've made your point."

Sarah hated that it could be this easy to just give in. That Jenner could take that choice away from her.

"Even if I hadn't chosen to do this, we would all still be dying anyway," Jenner said gently. "Alex Ramm programmed this place so that the outer doors can't be opened – we're locked in whether I do it or not."

"We can't over-ride the system?"

"No. We were doomed the moment we set foot in this place."

"_No_. We were doomed the moment the dead started walking but my end shouldn't have to be here."

"I'm sorry."

Sarah let out a mirthless laugh. "Sorry doesn't quite cut it, _Ed_. I hope you know that I'm going to die hating you on a _cellular _level. You sick. Disgusting. Bastard."

He opened his arms wide, as if to give her the best target for more verbal abuse. "With all due respect I think I can live with that knowledge for the next seven hours of my life."

"With all due respect, _fuck you_, Ed."

"I'm doing what's best for you."

She stared at him, incomprehension barely even starting to settle in. "You've been down here alone too long – you're insane."

"And where have you been?" Jenner challenged, rubbing the scruff at his jaw-line, "Right alongside me, rotting down here too."

She glared up at him.

(3 hours until decontamination)

When Rick opened his eyes he could hear the soft hum of the air con; feel someone's hand running through his hair.

He closed his eyes briefly and sighed.

At the sound, the hand withdrew, and he made a small, objecting noise in the back of his throat. "Don't stop."

There was a chuckle, and soft fingers were massaging against his scalp once again. "How did you sleep?" came a feminine voice.

"Better than I have in a long time." Rick cracked an eye open to look at Lori who was propped up on one elbow facing him. "You?"

She didn't reply and for a second Rick enjoyed lying next to the comfortable heat of his wife, the weight of her hand on his head, and her soft voice lingering in his ear.

"I haven't seen you look this relaxed in a long time."

The corner of his mouth quirked. "Must be the killer hangover."

"Somehow I don't think so," she smiled, and then hesitated. "When I woke up this morning…I thought – for a moment – we were at home. Lying in bed together on a Sunday mornin'. I actually thought I could hear the birds singing."

Rick rested his head in the crook of his arm. "Do you remember how Carl used to have nightmares and slip into our bed during the night? He'd just get right in with out waking us, and the next morning we'd just wake up and he'd be there – wedged right in between us and we'd have no idea how he got there."

"He's too big for that now."

"…Twelve."

They both fell silent. Rick could feel the dull, aching pound of his head and the bitter taste in the back of his mouth and presently he patted Lori's leg.

"Hey – what's wrong?"

"Rick I'm fine."

He blew out a breath, sitting up. "I know that I wasn't there for you and Carl when everything happened, but –"

"- Honey, you got to stop blaming yourself for everything. You were in a coma; it was a miracle that you even found us again."

He shook his head. "I just want you to know that even though we're all doing things…saying things we never thought we'd have to – you can still talk to me – right?"

Lori ran a hand through her hair, her wedding ring catching the light like a promise. "I know that," she whispered, softly. "I do, Rick - but there's nothing to tell."

She got out of bed, pulling on a grey hoody and bending to kiss Carl on the forehead as he slept in the next bed. "Hey, baby, it's time to wake up."

"Five more minutes."

"C'mon," she said, her eyes twinkling as she sat down next to him. "We gotta help make breakfast for the people that managed to have a whole bottle of wine to themselves last night – and you ain't going anywhere," she added to her husband, as Rick made to stand up and collapsed back on the bed with a groan, rubbing his forehead.

"Is Dad hungover?"

"Yeah," said Lori. "Dad's hungover."

"I don't know how you guys drink that stuff - it tasted really, _really _bad," muttered Carl, wrinkling his nose as Lori passed him a T Shirt and jeans.

"Adults are strange like that," she joked. "Now go get changed."

Carl rolled his eyes, stripping the bed covers back to stand up and wonder into the adjoining bathroom.

Alone in the room together, Lori could feel Rick's eyes burning into the back of her head and she avoided turning to meet his gaze under the pretense of straightening Carl's sheets.

"I'm going to get it out of you, eventually," Rick voice came, slightly teasing, slightly sleepy. "Whatever's going on in your head."

Lori's hands faltered in their work, and her eyes found a spot on the wall opposite her.

_God, I hope not_.

* * *

The moment Jenner left the room for breakfast, Sarah immediately started to work. She refused to believe that he'd sentenced them all to their deaths, and she refused to believe there wasn't some way to over-ride Alex Ramm's computer system.

She edged out of the lab, checking corridors for people until she made it to the Control Room, and from there Jenner's office.

She settled down at his computer and booted it up. When the old password didn't work; Sarah sat back in her chair, feeling her heart rate increasing with stress.

"Come on Sarah," she said aloud. "You have a PhD – how hard can it be to hack a computer?"

But as she closed her eyes to think, all she could see in her mind's eye was that damn countdown timer, calling out to her.

_You're a survivor…you're a survivor…_she told herself. _Think. You can save yourself. You can save Rick and his group. _

_I'm a survivor. _

_You're a failure_, her own thoughts replied and unconsciously Sarah let out a yell of frustration, slamming her fist down onto the desk before her.

"Vi, shut down the timer," she yelled.

"Unable to abort timer," Vi replied, smoothly.

"Shut down the god damn timer!"

"Unable to abort timer."

Sarah felt a chill. Her technology skills reached about as far as pulling a plug, and she knew the only way they were going to get out was if she could by-pass system control, or get onto the main computer to stop Ed from closing interior doors - and worry about the outside doors later.

She rubbed her forehead. Her field was virus's not –

Her eyes widened with realization.

She needed a computer virus.

The CDC may have been a center for disease control, but with Alex Ramm's presence they'd opened up a sub-division for computer viruses – supposingly to combat the threat of cyberterrorism. Sarah would bet anything that something in that department would strip down the firewall on any computer in the Control Room.

She left the room at a sprint, pausing at her own to retrieve her little-used security pass along the way.

(2 hours until decontamination)

Rick loaded his gun. Fired.

There was a ringing in his ears as the man went down; he could taste bile in the back of his throat.

_You killed a man. You killed a man. _

The scenery seemed to rush past him in a blur though he wasn't moving. There were gunshots and yells that he couldn't make out until one voice – sharper and clearer than the rest – shouted: "_Rick_!" And his mind snapped back into place like a rubber band with brutalizing clarity. He spun round to face Shane.

"Don't tell Lori about that! Ever! Do you understand!?"

- Suddenly he was lying on his back, breathing heavily. The pain was just –

- felt like there was a pressure at his side. White hot. – dead -

…Carl…Lori…

Rick woke with a start. He gasped for air, looking around the room wildly before realizing where he was; that his wife and son had just gone to breakfast.

He pressed at his eyes with the tips of his fingers, groaning at the discomfort of his racing heart and pounding head; his other hand fisted over the scar on his chest.

Rick'd figured that he would never remember being shot – that the shock would have had an amnesic effect. Revisiting that moment for the first time, then, was like being hit in the face with a sledgehammer.

He groaned again, swinging his legs onto the floor and standing up.

_Lori was lying next to you twenty minutes ago_, he reminded himself._ You found them again. You survived. Don't let this get to you. _

Even so, Rick still did not linger in the room; changing quickly to seek out Lori and Carl wherever they were having breakfast.

He found them in what had presumably once been a staff cafeteria – one that now smelt of fresh eggs and bacon. A group of people were clustered round the table nearest the kitchen and he dropped into a seat beside his wife. "Morning."

Carl looked up at him – one of those smirks on his face. "Mom said you'd be hungover."

"Mom was right."

"Mom has that annoying habit," said Lori, a rare smile in her voice and Rick blinked, then felt an easy smile grow across his face.

Despite the hangover, he was not the only one whose spirits were uplifted by the prospect of cooked food and safe walls. Around him people were laughing and smiling and Rick had to forcibly remind himself that survival was like Murphy's Law: it was when you least expected a crisis that one occurred.

Around the table sat a cluster of people – not the whole group; Jaqui, Glenn, T-Dog – but enough of them to make him pause. These were people he had shared the apocalypse with. People he had protected. People who were practically family in all but blood.

He told himself that the honorary title of Sheriff did not mean today what it had meant before the end of the world – that the reason he lead them was because they'd chosen him and if someone else were to step up, everyone would take it in their stride.

But Rick knew leadership ran through his veins. Not many people seemed to understand duty as a tangible thing, and maybe that was why Sarah had drawn him in so quickly – as a child, free; yet chained down to a town that would eventually suffocate her; and now as an adult, inevitably damned by the same self-inflicted notion of duty as he.

Rick shook his head quickly, moving to heap some bacon onto his plate. He had a hangover: it was too early to think like this - even after the dream he'd had. _Especially _after the dream he'd had.

"Morning."

The gravelly tone of voice told Rick that Jenner had just entered the room, but when he looked up – half expecting to see Sarah trailing after him – she wasn't there.

But she _was _the topic of the hushed conversation Andrea and Dale were having across the table and Rick frowned, keeping his eyes down on his plate as he listened intently.

"- Andrea I don't think we should –"

"This is _important_, Dale. We need answers, what if what that other scientist told us was true?"

"I don't –"

"_Please_, Dale. I want to know."

Rick looked up to see Andrea staring pointedly at the older man, who sighed, turning to speak to Edwin Jenner.

"Hey, Doc, I don't mean to slam you with questions first thing –"

"But you will anyway."

"We didn't come here for the eggs," Andrea cut in, bluntly.

By now, the whole table was focused on the conversation. Next to him Lori was watching intently. Rick had to remind himself that this was what they came here for; answers – _this _was what they came here for: not the beds or food. But there was something else, something cold settling into the pit of his stomach. Now that his head was clearer, he knew…he'd spoken to Jenner last night. And he had no damn idea what he'd told him.

* * *

Sarah was heading for Zone 5 – computer based viruses.

For her time in the CDC, and her time at research facilities based in Boston, she'd worked at Level 4, what was known as 'Zone 4' here.

Zones referred to the level of Biosafety – basically telling her whether she needed to get kitted up in a space suit to handle a vial and a microscope or not. Zone 1 was minimal biohazard. The study of low risk infectious agents like Salmonella and pneumonia. Zone 2 Hepatitis, influenza. Zone 3 was where it started to get interesting: H.I.V, Typhus. High biohazard risk and multiple vaccinations required. And finally, there was Sarah's zone that she'd occupied for the past two years of her life. Zone 4. Extreme biohazard. Maximum security. Here was where you needed the space suit get-up. And it was here that all the viruses were found with no known cures or vaccines. Highly virulent. It was here that they kept weaponized smallpox – and the virus dubbed as 'Wildfire'.

Sarah had worked in all of these Zone's, but she'd never set foot in Zone 5. Even when it was just her and Jenner.

It was the first Zone that Vi had shut down to conserve power almost a month ago because they'd deemed it least necessary. Now it was the one Sarah most desperately needed.

"Vi," she called out as she hurried down a corridor. "Put the power back on for Zone 5."

"Re-establishing power in Zone 5 for up to four minutes could cut fuel generator supplies by three quarters. Time until decontamination would drop to thirty minutes. Are you sure you want power turned on in Zone 5?"

Sarah swore under her breath, picking up her pace to a run. "Do it."

* * *

Jenner led them into a large room that he called 'the Control Room'.

One massive expanse of the wall was taken up by a screen which he loaded up a video of something called TS-19 onto.

"Few people ever got a chance to see this," he informed them, as a loading bar flashed on the screen. "Very few."

The loading bar vanished to be replaced by two images of people. Or at least, a scan of two people – the brains and skeletons.

Rick put his hand on the small of Lori's back, stepping closer to the screen.

"Is that a brain?" asked Carl, looking impressed.

"Extraordinary ones," commented Jenner. "The one on the left is Dr Hannigan's."

Rick froze. "Sarah's?"

Jenner glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and Rick didn't like the knowing look he gave him.

"You know her name?" Lori asked, skeptically.

"I spoke to her last night," he replied, truthfully – all the while keeping his eyes fixed on the screen. Her brain – Sarah's brain – was a tracery of green lights. Her brain activity seemed to be a constant, inexorable process and Rick could understand why Jenner would call it something extraordinary.

"Enhance internal view of person TS 19," Jenner instructed the computer, and the outline of the person that wasn't Sarah was zoomed in on until the expanse of the head filled the majority of the screen. There was the brain, again. Those green lights.

"What is that?" asked Shane.

"A person's life. Experiences. Memories…it's everything. Somewhere in all that organic wiring, in all those ripples of light…" he paused for a second. "Is you. The thing that makes you unique and human."

_The thing that you destroy to kill a walker _Rick thought.

"You don't make sense – ever?" asked Daryl.

Jenner took the question patiently. "Those are synapses," he explained. "Electric impulses in the brain that carry all the messages. They determine everything a person says does or thinks from the moment of birth to the moment of death."

"Death?" asked Rick. "Is that what this is? A visional?" His voice was aggressive. He didn't like where this was going, and the fact that there was also a picture of Sarah's brain up there.

"A person died?" whispered Andrea. They were all entranced by the brain – a literal picture of life; beautiful in its glowing complexity. "Who?"

"Test Subject 19. Someone who was bitten. Infected. And volunteered to have a recording of the process."

"What about Dr Hannigan?" Rick interrupted. "Why is she up there?"

Jenner hesitated. "A month ago, Sarah spilt contaminated walker blood onto an open wound. She washed it out, but she got sick. We thought she was going to turn so we prepared an MRI scan for her turning."

"But she didn't turn," Andrea said, her eyes wide.

"Don't get too excited," Jenner said, bitterly. "The amount of walker blood she spilled on the wound was minimal. She washed it out with PVP-I. Povidone iodine. It didn't have a chance to get into her blood stream."

"Would that work for us?"

"Only if your blood got cross infected with walker blood. Only if that walker blood was less than around 3 mls. Only if you had the strongest PVP-I at your disposal and the wound was about the size of a paper cut" said Jenner, sardonically. "So, no. – Vi!" he added. "Scan forward to the first event."

"Scanning forward to the first event," came Vi's computer generated voice.

Suddenly, black veins seemed to sprout in the brain.

Glenn's eyes widened. "What is _that_?"

"It invades the brain like meningitis," said Jenner – and they all realized he was referring to the virus. "The adrenal glands hemorrhage and the brain goes into shut down - then the major organs."

Suddenly, the green lights in the brain winked out and the person, who had obviously been moving about in pain, fell still. "Death," whispered Jenner. "Everything you ever were or ever will be. Gone."

The lining of Rick's throat felt like sandpaper. He swallowed. Suddenly, the fate of the majority of the human population seemed so much worse. How did Sarah, Jenner live with this knowledge? How had they conducted nineteen – maybe more – MRI scans of people changing into walkers? Even prepared one for Sarah? How had they stayed down here when everybody else had left?

_How_, thought Rick, _does that kind of life not drive a person insane_?

Two months underground. One of them spent entirely alone – with only Jenner for company.

He looked around. And where _was _Sarah now? He hadn't seen her since last night, and even then the conversation was as fuzzy in his mind as the one he had had with Jenner.

"Is that what happened to Jim?" asked Sophia, and suddenly Rick remembered that Carl was in the room. Part of him wished that his son hadn't seen that.

"Yes," replied Carol, looking as lost with how to react to her daughter witnessing that as Rick himself had felt.

Andrea gave a shudder, apparently holding back tears – "she lost her sister two days ago" – Lori explained to Jenner, and he nodded.

"I lost somebody too. I know how devastating it feels."

Rick blinked.

_- "He had a wife who worked here." -_

_- "She went with the other doctor's?" -_

_- "…No. No…She died."-_

He remembered part of his conversation with Sarah. That Jenner had had a wife who worked with him down here.

He stared at the man, remembering how it felt to wake up in hospital and think his wife and son gone. Devastating didn't cover it.

"Scan to the second event," Jenner instructed Vi.

"_Scanning to second event_."

Once again, the person flashed off screen to be replaced by a loading bar.

"The resurrection time is wildly different," Jenner informed them. "We've had reports of it happening in as little as three minutes. The longest we heard of was…eight hours. In this case the patient had two hours…one minute…" he hesitated, his voice barely more than a whisper now. "Seven seconds."

As he spoke, a red light fizzled into life at the bottom of the brain, sending out smaller lights – impulses. This was reanimation.

"It restarts the brain?!" asked Lori. Her hands were clenched round the railing, her eyes wide. Rick stayed rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the screen.

"No, just the brain stem. Basically it gets them up and moving, but –"

"- they're not alive." Rick said, finishing his sentence, refusing to believe what he was seeing. He'd seen these things in person. They were _dead_. They were the dead, walking.

Jenner gestured to the screen, raising an eyebrow. "You tell me."

"Its nothing like it was before," Rick said, shaking his head. He remembered the beauty of the green lights – the same as the ones that had wired Sarah's brain. "Most of that brain's dark."

"Dark. Lifeless. Dead," nodded Jenner. "The frontal lobe - the neocortex? The human part? That doesn't come back. The you, part. It's just a shell of what you were…mindless."

Suddenly something appeared in the top right hand corner of the screen. Rick's eyes narrowed. The metal…the shape. He'd lived around one of those things his entire life. It was a gun.

Suddenly it went off, cleanly cutting the brain in half.

Rick turned angrily to Jenner, as Lori grabbed Carl's arm, pulling her to him.

"God!" said Andrea.

"What was that?" asked Carol, disbelieving.

A strange looked passed across Andrea's face. "He shot his patient in the head…didn't you?"

"Vi shut down the power on the main screen," said Jenner – not really an answer at all.

"_Shutting down power on main screen and work stations._"

"You have no idea what it is, do you?" asked Andrea aggressively.

Rick watched her carefully. After last night, something had snapped inside of her. She'd told Dale she'd spoken to Sarah. What had happened?

"It could be microbial, viral," admitted Jenner.

"Or the wrath of God?" said Jacqui.

Rick watched Jenner pause. "There's that," he muttered.

Andrea shook her head angrily. "Somebody must know something – _she _knew more than you did."

"You've been speaking to Sarah?" asked Jenner, his voice taking on a strange mocking quality. "And what did she tell you?"

"I want to know what _you_ know. Somebody must know something!" snapped Andrea in frustration.

"There are others right? Other facilities?" asked Carol.

"There may be some. Some like me."

"How can you not _know_?" said Rick. _We came here looking for answers. That's what I told Shane – and we're not getting any. _

"Everything went down. Communication. Director's. All of it. I've been in the dark for about…a month."

A chill went down Rick's back, a foreboding. There was a strange deadness to Jenner's voice as he relayed the facts about his time down in this place.

"So it's not just you. There's nothing left anywhere. Nothing. That's what you're really saying – right?" pushed Andrea.

Everybody stilled. Waiting for Jenner's answer.

But it never came.

And his silence spoke volumes.

Rick looked down, disbelieving.

He'd tried so hard to carry on up until now. To keep everyone going because there was a hope that somewhere – somewhere out there – there was civilization. The world they used to know. Jenner couldn't be suggesting that everything was just…gone.

"Dr Jenner, I knowing this has been taxing for you," Dale spoke up. He had been quiet through out the whole explanation, but now he looked perplexed. "But I have to ask one more question. That _clock_. Counting down…what happens at zero?"

Rick turned to see where Dale was pointing. He hadn't noticed it before, but there was a digital clock at the corner of the room - its red light flashing ghostly through the darkness. As Rick watched the 2 hours suddenly fell to thirty minutes. He blinked, sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. In the space of a second the clock had jumped an hour and a half.

Jenner spoke, answering Dale's question. "The basement generators run out of fuel."

The foreboding in Rick's gut grew.

"What happens then?" he asked angrily. But Jenner seemed to be finished. Done. He was walking away from the group. "What happens when the power runs out?" Rick yelled after him. "Vi! What happens when the power runs out?"

"_When the power runs out facility wide decontamination will occur._"

(30 minutes until decontamination)

As Sarah ran the lights in the corridor flickered on until she was almost keeping pace with them. The next step she took, the light above her would whir into life. Another step, the next chunk of corridor before her was illuminated.

_27 minutes_, she thought desperately. _You can do this, you've got time._

She made it to some steel double doors, swiping her security pass on the pad to the left. The doors gave a click and opened. She breathed a sigh of relief that despite the fact that she'd been assistant director of Zone 4 and just a visitor at the CDC in Atlanta, the security pass they'd given her allowed her to access all areas.

Zone 5 looked much like the Control Room, with several work stations and a large glass office over looking them. The only difference was, in Control Room Sarah would have known exactly what she needed to do. Here, she had no clue.

"Vi!" Sarah spoke out clearly. "I need a virus that can take down a computer's firewall or hack its password."

"_GPU-based password cracking tools work station 3." _

Sarah blinked, unsure as to what she'd just been told but hurried over to the computer that had a large black 3 painted on its side.

Everywhere in the room there was a sign of panicked disarray. This work station had obviously been cleared in a hurry – a pot of pencils had been knocked over and were strewn across the table, several pictures tacked to the divider had been ripped down, leaving others pinned to it haphazardly. Sarah's eye caught a photograph of two children sitting at a pool's edge, grinning toothily. It was sunny. Maybe taken on some beach-side holiday. She tore her eyes from the picture and logged on.

On the computer was a mess of files that Sarah was terrified to open less she release a kind of mega-super-virus.

She clicked on a report file, hoping that it would tell her what she needed to know.

It wasn't a report though, really. A brief outline of notes, maybe, that would lead to a report. Sarah scanned it quickly, aware of time slipping through her fingertips.

"_3 minutes left of power in Zone 5_," Vi stated, monotonously.

She but her lip, reading furiously.

_Virus: JR_…._user selected password…average eight-character password reaches an estimated 30-bit strength. JR tests 103,000 passwords per second. This would taken an estimated time of 16 minutes to crack password providing the password follows general formula of characters and numbers. (Send test result to Jacki) Obviously estimations…_

16 minutes.

16 minutes to crack Jenner's password and open the interior doors – and that excluded how the hell she was going to open the exterior doors after that.

Sarah checked her watch. 27 minutes until decontamination.

She checked below the CD drive and found a memory card that had been left inserted there. She downloaded the virus onto that and then pressed the slot. The card was ejected out and she held it so tightly in her hand that the corners dug into her palm.

Sarah quickly shut the computer down, running out of the room. "Vi, shut down the power in Zone 5!" she yelled, as she closed the double doors behind her.

The resulting sprint to the Control Room left her out of breath – cardio hadn't exactly been the top of her priority list in the two month's she'd been stuck down there.

She settled down in front of a computer, inserting the memory card into the processing unit.

LOADING, the screen read, and then in a blink of an eye thousands of numbers and letters in rows or columns – she couldn't tell which – were flashing across the screen. At the bottom of the screen was Sarah's own, personal timer, counting back from 16.

"Holy shit," she muttered, blinking rapidly.

The numbers were moving at an impossibly fast pace. Some of the rows and columns were moving, other numbers were simply increasing as she watched them. But it wasn't fast enough.

"Sixteen minutes," she whispered to herself, looking at the timer. Take sixteen away from twenty seven and you were left with eleven minutes. Eleven minutes to get out of this place, figure out a way to open the exterior doors simply wasn't enough.

Sarah frowned at the keyboard in front of her. She wondered if there was a way to speed the program up. She hesitated, her finger hovering over the ENTER key.

"Time," she whispered to herself. "You're going to run out of time."

She hit the key.

Seconds later, she knew it was a mistake.

ILLEGAL ENTRY. Read the words across the bottom of the screen. NUMERIC FIELD ONLY. CRACKING TIME DECELERATED TO 25 MINUTES.

Sarah barely had time to swear when voices filled the room.

She whirled round, edging in front of the computer to block the screen with her body. It was Jenner, walking towards her surrounded by Rick's group. Despite the questions they hurled at him, he remained silent and Sarah judged by their panic that they'd finally found out.

Jenner's gaze met hers and she flinched. "What are you going here?"

"Looking for you."

The other's had fallen silent, glancing between the two scientists. Jenner raised his arms. "Well, I'm here."

She swallowed, tapping her foot on the ground. She had no idea what to say, she just knew she had to stall. "Did you, did you tell them…everything?"

"Just about."

She nodded. He hadn't told them that 'wildfire' was already hibernating underneath their skin until they died. She couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or not.

"Listen, what the hell's goin' on here?" yelled the guy Sarah remembered to be called Daryl, at the same time Andrea stared at her and asked, "Did you know about this?"

"Do you even know what 'this' is?" she shot back, brutally aware of how much she sounded like Jenner. "Facility wide decontamination – do you know what it is?"

"To hell with this," snarled Shane, lunging for Sarah.

"No!" yelled Rick, grabbing his arm.

"She knew, Rick! They both knew that this was going to happen!" But Rick continued to restrain him and Sarah stayed rooted to the spot, unable to move from her space in front of the computer.

"Lori, get our things. Everybody get your stuff – we're getting out of here _NOW_!" Rick yelled. He wasn't – or was refusing – to meet her eyes. She wanted to somehow convey to him that she was going to get them out of there with out tipping Jenner off, but there was no way.

And she knew, as the group suddenly mobilized; sprinting for the exits, what would come next.

The doors slid shut.

Sarah's eyes flickered to Jenner to see him sat at a computer, making a video entry to the log that they'd kept down here for the last two months. It was Candace that had suggested they started doing that – for future reference, she'd said, except she wouldn't have a future.

Not for the first time, Sarah worried that Jenner truly had gone insane, and if he had gone insane, what did that make her? Like he'd said she had been by his side all this time, rotting down here with him.

Sarah checked the timer for the password over her shoulder. Twenty three minutes. The decontamination timer read twenty five minutes.

There had to be another way.

Sarah flicked the monitor screen off, cloaking it in black.

"Jenner open that door _now_," demanded Rick, his voice so tight it might break.

"There's no point," said Jenner, "everything topside is down, the emergency exits are sealed."

"Well open the damn things!" yelled Daryl.

"That's not something I can do. That's something only the computer can do. 'Once that door closes it won't open again' – you heard me say that!" Jenner yelled. "…it's better this way."

Rick whirled round to face Sarah, his blue eyes like shards of glass. "Open the doors."

"Ed changed the password – I can't."

"But you can persuade him to open them," he said, grabbing her arms. "Please."

"Ed's one redeeming quality was that he loved his wife, Rick," Sarah said, her voice deliberately harsh. One eye on Jenner who sat across the room. "And now she's gone. He's _going_ to kill us."

"What do you mean kill us? What's facility wide decontamination?" Shane yelled, kicking Jenner's chair. "TELL U –"

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS PLACE IS?!" Jenner suddenly snapped, standing up from his chair. Sarah closed her eyes briefly. His voice was loud. It filled every corner of the room. "We protected the public from _very _NASTY _STUFF!_ WEAPONISED _SMALLPOX_!"

"Ed –" Sarah said, her voice shaking. "Calm down."

"EBOLA STRAINS THAT COULD WIPE OUT _HALF THE COUNTRY_!...STUFF YOU DON'T WANT GETTING OUT _EVER_!"

"ED, _SHUT UP_!" Sarah suddenly felt like she had run a mile. That the ground had gone from underneath her feet. She didn't want to see Ed like this – so out of control. And inside of her something broke when she realized why; she was afraid that looking at him like this, was like looking into a mirror foreshadowing herself.

That maybe she was just as out of control as he was.

Maybe, one day, she would just give up too

Ed turned to her, breathing heavily. When their eyes met she jerked her head to the side as if his gaze burned.

"You know I'm right."

"You betrayed me and arranged the deaths of thirteen people -" Sarah strode up to the computer monitor and flicked it back on, displaying a screen of green numbers. "- but I'm hacking your computer to give them their choice to live back – so forgive me if I don't want to admit your right just yet."

He blinked, then moved forward to look at the screen more closely – at the timer. "The hack'll be finished two minutes before decontamination." He said. "You wouldn't make it out of here-" There was a strange gleam to his eyes as he turned to face Sarah. "- because one of us would have to stay here to enter the password to open multiple interior doors. And I think we both know its not going to be me."

Sarah grit her jaw. "You'd make me stay down here? Sacrifice myself so that all these people could get out of here?"

"I thought you loved to play martyr."

"Damn it, Ed, if you want to die so much, why don't _you _stay down here and enter the password. That way you die – we get out – and we all win."

He grabbed her arm tightly. "Your end is _not _going to be like her's. If you go out there, it will be."

Sarah swallowed heavily, realizing he was referring to Candace. Before she could speak, however, Rick broke in angrily. "Then she'd die trying to live. Please, Jenner" he begged, "open the doors."

"I'll stay and enter the password," said a woman, suddenly. Sarah turned to face the speaker – it was the woman named Jaqui.

There was a suddenly commotion in the group. "No – that's insane!" T-Dog broke out, grabbing her arm.

"I want to –" she said. "I don't want to go out there anymore. If you want to go, that's fine. But I'm stayin'."

"No –"

"- the password for the interior doors will come up once the hack's finished. From there you'll need to track our progress through CCTV and open any doors that are still locked down that we come to. The passwords for those will be in a marked file." Sarah broke in, her voice suddenly breaking over the wave of commotion. She fixed her gaze on the woman called Jaqui who nodded determinedly.

"I can do that."

She could taste bile in the back of her mouth, hating that she was benefiting from this woman's suicide.

"_Three minutes until decontamination."_

Jaqui slid into the seat in front of the computer. "One minute until the hack's completed – get to the door's and get ready!" she yelled.

As the group moved around her (Sarah was dimly aware of arguments breaking out, people moving) Jenner grabbed her arm.

"Let go, Sarah."

She blinked, stunned and confused – torn between hating him and holding back some great wave of emotion. "Of what?"

"Everything." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I…"

His voice faded into the background and Sarah could hear a funny buzzing in her ears. Around her the people of Rick's group were running, panicked. People were staying behind, preparing to die – others were running for the door.

The CDC – something that had seemed so solid – would become a pile of rubble in three minutes. Jenner, a rock through out anything, would cease to exist.

Let go.

She would escape, with none of her scientific equipment; no means to even start making a cure.

She would walk on land for the first time in two months. Her skin would feel daylight, and she would experience a world she had only been able to dream of in her nightmares.

She would live in a world which she did not know, cold, unfriendly. A world where her last living family member – her brother – was most likely dead.

She would be somewhere where ghosts of dead colleagues did not haunt corridors. Where she did not walk past doors of rooms that she had burnt their bodies in.

She would live in a state she had not visited since she'd been forcibly removed from there twenty one years prior, with a man she had not seen in an equal amount of time.

Let go.

Feeling, hearing and sight returned to Sarah in a rush of sensory overload. Someone was yelling in her ear, gripping her arm. It was Rick.

"Sarah!" he was yelling. "Sarah, come on! _Come on_!"

He was dragging her away. Attempting to gather up his wife and son.

She turned back to Jenner. Grabbed his hand.

"Say hi to Candace for me."

"I'm sorry –"

"I know. I know. I'm sorry too. We both fucked up – I'm going to find the cure I –"

"GO!" Jaqui yelled. "The computers hacked!"

The interior doors slid open, people rushed out.

Sarah was aware of Rick pushing her forwards. Of Jenner holding him back, whispering something in his ear.

The truth.

(20 seconds until decontamination)

She was running out of the CDC. There were walkers everywhere, gun fire. Sarah barely had time to take in the horrors of the courtyard where she had met David Shepard, said goodbye to Alex Ramm.

A walker grabbed her arm, and she yelled out in shock. She didn't have a gun, or a weapon, she had no idea what else to do except act in a crazy rush of adrenaline fueled energy.

(15 seconds until decontamination)

The walker was at her feet, it was missing an arm. Her own arms were coated up to their elbows in blood.

Despite that, Rick grabbed her hand, yanking her forward.

"Keep going!" he yelled, shooting a walker that stumbled in front of them in the head.

(10 seconds until decontamination)

She was forced into an old Winnebago camper van. Jammed in next to the woman named Carol and her daughter. She was crying – not her, the young girl. Or was it her?

(6 seconds until decontamination)

"Get down! Get down!"

Sarah let out a choked sob, one that ripped at her throat and lungs. She held her wrist out in front of her – the one with the watch on that was now spattered with blood. Her eyes were fixed on the hand that counted down precious seconds.

5

4

3

2

She shut her eyes, Jenner's face imprinted on her mind.

1

Let go.

* * *

**A/N **Sorry this chapter took so long to write. My life's crazy busy right now.

This whole chapter was supposed focus on relationships, but I think a lot of the drama and action got in the way.

It was supposed to suggest how Lori and Shane sometimes work, but are highly unstable and dangerous. Sarah's interaction with Jenner basically changes her makeup all together, and her relationship with Rick works surprisingly well for two people who, on the outside, are polar opposites.

Also, I wanted to start to address the idea of insanity. I know with Rick and Shane, it comes much later on in the story, but I would argue that they didn't have to go through what Jenner and Sarah had to go through.

Thank you so much for all your reviews! They keep me going!

_Last Of The Lilac Wine _


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N **You guys have been amazing with all your wonderful words of encouragement. I on the other hand – with my erratic, irregular updating schedule – have been pretty awful. Sorry for the wait for this chapter, but hey, at least it wasn't three months!

Diving back into Sarah's past again here in another kind of 'Lost-esque' sequence. Sorry if it gets a bit exhausting, but it's all important stuff.

* * *

**CHAPTER 7**

* * *

"_You're crazy."_

"_I'm not. No I'm not." _

_ The Dark Knight (2008)_

1992

Dr Crane's room was not what Sarah would have expected. It was a small, compact space with a bookcase of files along the left wall and one of those large, potted plants at the opposite corner – the kind with large emerald leaves the size of her arm.

The psychiatrist himself was sat not at a desk, but on a cushy grey sofa opposite Sarah's – a furnishing arrangement obviously intended to relax the patient.

This was their third session in two months.

"So," said Dr Crane, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on his knees. "Your Aunt tells me you're still having your nightmares."

Sarah kicked her legs a few times. "Yeah."

"You want to tell me a bit about it?"

She tensed and cast her eyes to the floor.

Dr Crane seemed old to Sarah, but he could barely be more than fifty. His hair was mostly brown, though it was going grey at his temples and he had a long nose and wire-rimmed glasses.

"How are you enjoying living at your Aunt's?"

She blinked, looking up and he smiled. "I figure if I want to help you I have to _know _you, don't I? So," he said, clapping his hands and then opening his arms wide as if to invite out her answer. "How have you been enjoying living with your Aunt these past three years? School?"

Sarah began to feel better because these were subjects she _wanted _to talk about. "School's great," she said. "Our teacher dissected a frog's heart in Biology yesterday."

"You enjoyed that?"

She bit her lip. "It was kind of gross. But I like science."

"Not many girls your age do."

Sarah was aware of that, because apparently liking science and being a girl made you a total loser.

Dr Crane was quick to realize he'd opened up a touchy subject and stood, opening a mini fridge Sarah hadn't noticed before and handing her a can of Coke.

She popped it open, taking a sip and imagining her teeth dissolving like the time the dentist had visited her kindergarten class in Georgia and put a tooth in a glass of coke. They checked it daily, and after a few weeks, it had completely disappeared.

"Did you know there's a clear correlation between kids with a high IQ and sleeping difficulties?" asked the older man, sitting back down.

Sarah shook her head.

"Your brain's hyper-active which means you have trouble getting to sleep, and…" he raised his eyebrows at her and tapped the side of his head. "You're more likely to have nightmares."

"So you're saying I should get dumber?" Sarah said, skeptically.

An amused smile crossed his face. "No, of course not – but if we can understand _why _you're having these dreams, then we can stop them. See?"

"I guess."

He grabbed his chin, looking deep in thought. "Your dreams are still the same right? The same thing, over and over."

"Yeah."

"Remind me how everything happens."

Sarah flinched. She'd told him everything during their first session – and the second. "But you already know."

"Humor me."

She chewed on her lower lip, hesitating. "You're walking –" Dr Crane prompted.

"-Running," she corrected.

"Okay running. Where? When?"

Irritation boiled in her. She knew that _he _already knew all this. "It changes. In our house. Down a corridor. In a maze."

"And you're scared."

Sarah blinked. "Why would I be scared?"

"I always assumed…in our other sessions when you said you were running, I assumed you were scared – running away from something," said Dr Crane, frowning as he reached for a brown file, hurriedly turning pages.

"No – I'm running towards something," Sarah said, uncomfortably as she watched Crane flick through sheets of notes he'd write about her after she left their hourly meetings. She could see his writing, upside down and messy, but didn't attempt to read it.

"You mean your running towards someone."

"They always change," she admitted.

"Yes," he said, taking off his glasses and peering down at his notes. "Your mother, your brother, this boy called Rick from your home town – even your teachers."

Said out loud, it just made Sarah sound stupid – insane.

Dr Crane noticed her discomfort and smiled at her reassuringly. "Don't worry, I've heard stranger things." He paused. "I've been trying to find a link between all these people but I have to admit I can't find one."

Sarah nodded. Even to her, those people were a totally random selection.

"What is it that scares you about these dreams?"

She averted her gaze. "I don't get there in time."

"For what?"

"I don't know. I fail. I don't get there in time. I wake up screaming."

As she was talking, Dr Crane suddenly took his glasses off, fixing her with a piercing stare. "Your mother," he said. "You looked after her whilst she was alive – when you were younger?"

"Yeah."

"And your brother, do you have any guilt surrounding him – maybe to do with your move to Boston?"

She was silent for a moment. "I guess I feel like it was my fault," she admitted.

"In other words," said Dr Crane, replacing his glasses and speaking as if he'd solved a moderately difficult puzzle. "To whatever extent, these are people in your life that you feel you've failed."

Sarah suddenly felt like her stomach was made of icy water. "So I have some… psychopathic failure complex?"

"As your therapist, I can confirm that you are clearly not psychopathic, Sarah."

"But my dreams…" she said, in a very small voice.

"- You're a dreams are a product of your guilt. I would have been very surprised if you hadn't experienced any emotional trauma, all things considered."

She tried to ignore the subtle reference to her parent's deaths, but it still caused a lump to form in her throat.

Dr Crane sighed, seeing her distress. Her face tended to go red and blotchy when she was about to cry. "Failure is not something negative, Sarah – nor is your failure the cause of your mother's death. Failure can mean effort, and effort means that something mattered to you. Turn your failure into something positive – see it as a cause for hope."

"How?"

"Hope that next time you will not fail. Hope that this time; your failure will make you stronger: if you do this, I promise you your dreams will stop."

"What if they don't?"

He hesitated. "We can put you on medication – mood stabilizers, sleeping pills - but that's a last resort that I don't believe you'll need."

When she didn't reply, he scratched his head for a second and then said, "My son, when he was a little older than you, had the same problem – most teenagers do. They struggle to compartmentalize problems; they expand until they become bigger than life – failure seems daunting and terrifying. He didn't try at any of his school tests because he was so worried that if he tried, he would fail. He had particular trouble with math. Couldn't get his head round it. So before the big end of year test, my wife and I hired a tutor for him for the four weeks leading up to it. They went through all the material together and so my son went and sat this exam after those four weeks – completely confident."

"Did he get full marks?" Sarah asked.

"No. He did the worst in the class," Dr Crane said, smiling ruefully. "He was completely cut up over it and my wife and I – imagine our confusion! We'd paid for this tutor for weeks and it had made no difference! The next year, the end of year test for math came round again and my wife and I, we didn't push him – he'd been so upset the year before. But you know what? I went into his room a few weeks before this end of year exam, and there he was, studying. Every night until that exam he studied for an hour or two by himself. He sat the test, and you know what?"

"What?"

"A week later, when the results were released, we found out he'd come thirteenth in a class of twenty five. It's the proudest I've ever been of him." He leaned forward to look at Sarah more closely. "Part of growing up, is making the choice to pick yourself up after you fall, to move on from negative emotions like regret. And part of growing up is making that choice independently, with out the force of your parents or teachers behind you. Do you understand?"

Sarah did understand, but she couldn't help herself from asking, "Do you really think this'll work?"

Dr Crane shrugged in a way that made her believe that maybe it could.

(Present Day) Day 66

Sarah knew that she was dreaming because she was walking down the corridors of the CDC in Atlanta, Georgia.

As of yesterday, the CDC in Atlanta, Georgia no longer existed.

The hallways were dimly lit, shadows lurking around the ceiling and in corners; the darkness feet ahead of her made it seem as if the hallway stretched on for an eternity.

She continued to walk.

She was searching for something - drawn forwards like a fish on a hook. There was no fear, only determination and she continued forwards until she made it to the Control Room. It was ghost-like; still and empty.

Sarah rotated on the spot, surveying the area. Once. Twice.

She was sure what she had been searching for would be here.

On her third rotation, a figure suddenly appeared in front of her and she took a step back in shock, and then relaxed.

It was just Jenner.

"What are you doing back here?" he asked. His voice was not bitter, mocking or cynical; as is it had been in there last few weeks together. This was the old Ed. The Ed who hadn't watched his wife turn into the undead.

"I was looking for you."

He nodded, as if this was the answer he expected. "You left your equipment behind." Sarah looked at him, he was pointing to the corner of the room and as she followed his line of sight, she saw her three bags. The bag with the guns in. The bag with her clothes in.

The bag with her scientific equipment in.

Sarah made a small sound in the back of her throat and she moved towards the bags in quick jerky movements. "No," she said. "I can't have –" Reaching out –

"Don't." Jenner grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop.

Sarah watched in horror as seemingly from nowhere a flame ignited on the black fabric of one of the bags. Insidious, the fire jumped from one bag to the next until they were all utterly consumed in orange flames that licked and crackled and burned before her eyes.

She waited to see if the fire would spread, but it didn't. It seemed to be contained to just the bags.

"My research," she choked, turning back to face Jenner. "The cure –"

"So David Shepard _was _right" Jenner commented, his voice impassive as he watched the bags burn. "…your search for a vaccine was for nothing…my wife died for nothing…"

Sarah stumbled away from him in shock. A noise started. A high pitched _eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_'ing soundin her ears.

"…You _lied_. You said you'd find the cure…"

The sound continued – like a something running on a ludicrously high frequency – making Jenner's words sound strangely muffled.

"I'm sorry," Sarah shouted at Jenner over the noise she could hear…somehow Jenner seemed further away from before, yet he was only standing meters away from her. "I failed you – them. Everybody trusted me, and I failed them. I'm sorry, _I'm sorry, _I'M SORRY!" she had to scream the last bit to Jenner. The noise was getting louder and Sarah covered her ears with her hands when it became almost unbearable. "I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!"

Ed looked at her, his eyes distant.

"I'M SORRY!"

Just like with the bags, a flame suddenly appeared, but this time at the bottom of Jenner's pants. It ate its way up his leg, yet he hardly moved. The material burnt away, fraying and blackening at the edges to reveal skin which in turn was eaten away to reveal horrible, gruesome things. Blood, charred flesh; bone. The flame ate its way up Jenner's body, utterly consuming him.

"I'M SORRY!" Sarah screamed. The noise was growing insistently louder. _EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. _

Ed was no longer visible, just a pillar of fire before her eyes. She turned to run from the horrible sight but suddenly Candace was in front of her. The woman called Jaqui. Jace Shepard. Workers from the CDC like Roxanne and Zach.

They surrounded her.

And Sarah realized with a sickening lurch of her stomach that they were all walkers.

She was grabbed from behind.

She desperately tried to pry the decaying, rotted hands from her forearms, but whoever it was was freakishly strong. She could barely see around her, but she could hear and feel.

_EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEE._

Fingers clawed at her. Her skin and flesh were shredded from her body. Something bit into her neck – the place designated for a lover's kiss – and there was a horrible ripping sound.

_EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE –_

The sound stopped.

Into the darkness of Sarah's consciousness, Jenner's voice whispered.

"_This hope that you've been clinging to? This pathological coping strategy? It isn't going to work. Wake up Sarah. Wake up and face reality. Wake up." _

_Wake up. _

Wake up.

Wake up.

Wake up.

"Dr Hannigan? Dr Hannigan?...Sarah?"

Sarah's eyes flew open abruptly.

She gasped, panting for air like she'd run a marathon. Twisting, she realized she was lying on the floor of the RV and Dale had his head half poked through the door to speak to her.

"We're all cooking up breakfast right now, if you'd like to join us -?"

"Yeah," Sarah nodded, distractedly, as she tried to catch her breath. "Yeah I will – just give me a minute."

Dale threw her one, searching look before nodding once. "I'll see you outside, then," he said and retreated from her line of sight.

Sarah lay back down, staring up at the ceiling.

She realized she was covered in a light sheen of sweat – though that could have been a product of the muggy Georgian night she'd just slept through. A single blanket was twisted round her legs

Sarah's nails dug into her palms as she balled her hands into fists. She had nothing. Everything she'd worked for, everyone she loved was gone. The dream was enough to prove that.

Her _research _–

She stood up abruptly, kicking the blanket free from her feet.

_Don't think about that_, she told herself. _If you do, you won't want to carry on_.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of her white lab coat, discarded on the floor next to her sleeping mat, and picked it up, exiting the RV.

Outside, she found that it was unusually bright.

Unusual for her – she still wasn't quite used to natural daylight. Everything seemed too clear, too colorful. It was so hard to believe that _this _was the land in which the apocalypse had taken place.

When they'd pulled over onto the grass verge just outside the abandoned gas station for the night, in her grief she hadn't been able to fully appreciate the _outdoors_. But now Sarah crouched down, trailing her fingers through the blades of grass; curling her hand in the dirt and feeling solid ground crumble between her fingers.

She took a deep breath of fresh air and smiled.

It was not the world she'd grown up in; the one she had loved.

But it was _a _world.

"I don't think I've seen somebody so happy to be outdoors in a long time."

Sarah looked up to see Dale watching her from the little camp fire just ahead of her. He was sat in a camping chair with a shot gun laid across his lap. She brushed her soiled hand on her pants, chagrined, and straightened up. "…It's been a while."

"Yeah well you'll get sick of it soon enough," said Andrea, poking moodily into a bowl she was holding with a fork. She, Dale and Carl were the only ones sat round for 'breakfast'.

"Where is everyone?"

Dale scratched his head. "With the cars." He waved her over with the spatula he was holding. "C'mon over – I made eggs."

The vague lie could have worked, too, if Carl hadn't glanced sharply (and obviously) at the older man before hurriedly attempting to look absorbed in his food.

Sarah narrowed her eyes but said nothing on the whereabouts of the rest of the group. She walked over and dropping her lab coat into the fire – with out any kind of ceremony or explanation and sat down on one of the canvas camping chairs next to Andrea.

Dale gave her a questioning look and she shrugged.

"It was my lab coat – I won't be needing it anymore."

There was an awkward silence in which Dale gave her a plate heaped with poached eggs and Sarah tried to ignore the way the coat singed and blackened in the fire; trying to ignore what it had stood for; she wrinkled her nose: "Can I smell food burning?"

A wan smile crossed Andrea's face, though she didn't take her eyes off of her bowl. "I couldn't sleep so I got up early and attempted to make breakfast. I'm not exactly the best cook in the world, so Dale took over."

"And you didn't bury the evidence?" Sarah teased, noticing the charred remains of somekind of foodlying in the grass a little way off.

"Nah, I left that to the defense."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "You're a lawyer."

"Civil rights attorney," Andrea corrected, and then she scowled. "I mean, I _was_."

"What was that like?"

"I loved it," admitted Andrea. "The fight – standing up for peoples' rights. It was my life."

Sarah pushed her food around her plate with her fork. "My work was my life too," she said, quietly.

Andrea glanced up at her face, and in that moment Sarah saw her as her mirror-image. Blonde, fiercely job-orientated. Lost.

"How close did you get?" the other woman asked. "I mean – to a cure."

"Not even close," Sarah sighed. "There were so many times when we thought we had it, and then…I'm pretty sure you already know by now when I say we'd never seen anything like this before."

"Yeah, I'd figured that much out," muttered Andrea. "I –"

But she broke off abruptly. Sarah looked up to see Dale staring between her and Andrea with poorly concealed smugness.

"I'm not hungry anymore," said Andrea, tightly. She dropped her plate to the ground and stood from her seat, stalking off to sit in the campervan.

"Andrea!" yelled Dale, laying the shot gun on the ground and following her into the van. "Andrea, c'mon!"

Sarah tried to block out their voices as they argued.

_What, you think arranging a little play-date between me and her is going to make me forget that my sister's dead? That there's nothing left? _

_I didn't arrange anything! It was nice to see you talking to someone else. _

_Bullshit, Dale! I don't – _

"You wanna go for a walk?" asked Carl, uncomfortably.

Sarah turned to face the kid, forgetting that he'd been there. "Is it safe?" she asked, uncertainly. Her stomach dropped with just the thought of running into a walker with Rick's son. How would she even protect him? "I mean. I don't want to take you anywhere and then find out that your Dad's forbidden you from going ten meters from the van."

"Just take the gun with you."

Sarah blanched, both at the casualness of the boys words and the memories they conjured up of her improvised use of a scalpel to kill a walker.

"Carl, I'm not –"

_- but dying was my choice. MY CHOICE, Dale! You took that away from me! - _

Sarah closed her eyes. "Okay, let's go." Maybe doing something would ward off memories of Ed. "But we're not going far."

"Sure," promised Carl, but when she moved to stand up he called out, "aren't we going to take this?"

She turned to see him holding the shot gun. It was comically too big for him, and reminded her of the image's she'd seen of child soldiers on the internet before the outbreak. "Give me that," she hissed, wrenching it out of the boy's grip.

"Chill," he said, defensively. Sarah had turned away now and was walking fast, down the grass verge and onto the road and he had to jog just to tail after her. "I'm not a kid."

"Yes you are."

"Not _now_, I'm not."

She stopped abruptly and spun round to face him. The shot gun was gripped carefully in one of her hands and she had to squint into the sunlight to make Carl out properly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Y'know – with everything that's happened…it's just…it's just like you grown up faster…like – I've seen things."

She was quiet for a moment. "In my eyes, you're still a kid."

He scowled and suddenly Sarah grinned, offering her free hand out. "C'mon."

"You don't actually want me to hold your hand?" asked Carl, looking at the hand she'd reached out to him like it was a poisoness creature.

"Nah. I'm just messing with you," she said, her arm dropping limply to her side, but then her face turned serious. "Stay close, though."

Carl rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I will."

They walked out onto the highway. Far enough away that they couldn't hear the yells of Andrea and Dale's voices, yet close enough that Sarah could still see the gas station and the campervan. Round the back of the station she could just make out the other cars and a group of people. The group that _she _now belonged to.

"What did Dale say the others were doing with the cars again?" she asked distractedly, as she pulled at her plain white t shirt. It was covered in gore, dust and now sweat.

Though she had been born in Georgia, she'd lived in Boston for the majority of her life. The heat here seemed almost oppressively hot, and Sarah could feel sweat dampening the back of her neck - she made a mental note to scavenge for new clothes as soon as possible.

"He didn't," replied Carl – and then hastily added. "But I think they're doing some repairs. Like, the engines and stuff. Dad asked for you, but you were asleep."

"Did he now," asked Sarah, dryly. Carl glanced up at her, quizzically. "You're Dad and I knew each other when we were younger," she explained. "I lived at a car garage. I think he's under the impression that I might be able to fix your cars."

"You knew my Dad?" Carl asked, shocked.

"Uhu. Funny how you bump into people when you least expect it, isn't it?"

"_Weird_," muttered Carl, shaking his head. "But you're, like, thirty. My Dad's way older than you."

"I'm twenty nine," Sarah corrected, rolling her eyes. "Rick's thirty six, the age difference isn't _that _big."

"Yeah but he still hung round with someone eight years younger than him."

"Seven years," she corrected, again, "who's teaching you math boy?"

"My Mom," he retorted. "And it's still weird."

"It was not. Your Dad was more like… a glorified baby-sitter to me. With out the pay."

"He never said anything about you."

Sarah was quiet for a long moment. "It was a long time ago," she said, eventually.

"How old were you?"

"Jesus, what is this, the Spanish inquisition or something?"

"Sorry," muttered Carl, blushing.

They walked down the road for a little while in silence. "What's the Spanish inquisition?" asked Carl.

"A kind of court system from the 12th century. They were supposed to root out and punish heretics – they were people who had opinions that didn't agree with the Catholic religion. Kind of like a law court, but they used torture and execution," she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "There. History lesson of the day."

Carl pulled a face. "I hated history."

Sarah was about to reply when she suddenly stiffened, stopping in her tracks. Carl carried on a few paces before she grabbed his arm, jerking him back to her side.

Her knuckles were white round the shot gun and she pulled them back so they were situated behind an abandoned car.

"What-"

"Walker," Sarah hissed.

Before she could stop him, Carl poked his head round the side of the car. She watched as his body visibly relaxed.

"Nah. It's okay – it's a way off at the moment and they're really slow when they're body's all messed up like that."

He glanced back at Sarah, and saw her white face and wide eyes. Her heart was beating erratically and she felt adrenaline pumping round her body.

"It's okay," repeated Carl soothingly, slipping his hand into hers and pulling her out from behind the car. "C'mon, let's go back to the van."

The whole walk to the gas station, though, Sarah was constantly checking over her shoulder to look at the walker.

But it never got any closer to them.

* * *

"Rick, I don't trust her!"

"She tried to blow us up," added Glenn, backing up Shane.

Rick ran a hand over his forehead, feeling sweat start to bead there. "We've been through this already – Jenner planned to blow the CDC up, Sarah was trying to save us!"

"Yeah, but she was all too happy to let Jaqui take her place and save her own skin," scowled T-Dog. "Is that the kind of person we want in our group? Does she look like the type to stick around and help in a bad situation?"

There were murmurs of agreement and Rick surveyed the people around him that were increasingly resembling an angry mob. "Jaqui volunteered," he said, flatly. "She made her choice."

"I think we should give her a chance," added Carol quietly. "She's a doctor – she could be useful."

"She's a god damned _scientist_," Shane yelled, throwing his hands up in frustration. "They just call themselves Doctors to make them sound important! She couldn't even do her job when she was surrounded by all the equipment so how much help is she going to be out here in the wild?"

"So just because she doesn't have medical training she doesn't matter?" Rick asked his tone acid. "Is that the mind set we have now? _Everyone _matters, Shane." Before Shane could move to speak again, Rick continued. "And if you did want to get rid of her, how would you do it? Ditch her here with a bag and a few tins of food, drop her off at the next intersection with a nothing but a knife?"

"Rick, I get what you're going on about with morality, I do, man," Shane said, more calmly, but in that intense way he had. "But we don't know this girl. We don't know if she's as insane as Jenner was. We don't know if she's _safe_."

Words sprang to Rick's lips, but somehow he couldn't articulate them. Couldn't say what so obviously needed to be said: what would, ultimately and completely, save Sarah.

That – even if it was just for one summer – he had known her.

"She's staying," Rick said, stubbornly.

"No – you don't get to do that," snapped Shane. "You don't get to make that decision for all of us."

Unexpectedly and suddenly, Rick felt a furious wave of anger. _He _led this group. And yet when it came down to it, _they _led him. They had a choke hold over his every decision. They doubted him. Questioned his motives.

Even Shane – his closest friend – seemed to be trying to contest his leadership than support it.

"Then how are we gonna do this, Shane?"

"We vote," he said simply.

"On the outcome of the poor woman's _life_?" asked Carol, horrified.

"It's for the good of the group," insisted Shane. "Rick – you've gotta think about this. Her friend tried to kill us _all_. How do you know – how do you _know _that she's not got the same ideas running round in her head?"

"We don't," he said frustrated, "but we can't –"

"We'll leave her with some food and supplies – a weapon. We'll give her a chance."

"She won't stand a chance! Not out there by herself!" Rick yelled, real panic and urgency boiling in him as he took in the faces of those surrounding him. Lined with pain at Jaqui's death, at what they had had to experience at the CDC. _His _wrong decision. One that had caused them to question his leadership. One that had caused them to lose Jaqui.

One that had led him to _Sarah_.

"Everybody that wants the Doc to stay," said Shane, "raise your hand."

Rick glared at Shane as Carol, Lori and Sophia raised their hands, and then he raised his own.

"A tie," Rick bit out, surveying T-Dog, Glenn, Shane and Daryl - who stood a little way apart from the group. "It doesn't solve anything."

"Dale and Andrea aren't here," argued Shane. "They –"

"You think _Dale's _going to vote in favor of ditching her here?" asked Glenn, exasperated.

"And do you think Andrea's going to be fit to decide on anything?" someone else snapped.

An argument broke out; fierce and heated.

Rick closed his eyes, trying to think despite the noise when Lori's voice cut sharply over the surface of everything. "_Carl_?" she yelled.

He turned quickly to see Sarah and his son picking their way slowly round the abandoned cars on the highway towards them. They looked odd together – dark haired and light, tall and short; one defenseless, the other holding a shotgun. _Dale's _shotgun.

Rick, Lori and Shane ran down the grass verge towards them. "What are you _doing_?" Lori yelled at her son, when they were with in hearing distance. "I told you not to leave the van!"

Sarah shut her eyes, and Rick thought he heard her say something like 'I knew it.'

"Mom its fine-"

"No its not Carl – you gotta start _listening _to me. You can't just walk off with people we barely know!"

"We had the gun –"

"_She _had the gun," interfered Shane.

"What you think I was gunna use it on the kid?" snapped Sarah, glaring at Lori. "We just went for a _walk_ –"

Lori rounded on her; a lioness defending its cub. "I know you've spent all your time underground at the CDC, and I respect what you went through down there – but do you _understand _the world we live in now? Did you even think about the well-being of my _son _when you took him for a _walk_? You can't even imagine what we've been through to stay alive up until now."

Sarah had suddenly gone very white, all the fight draining out of her and something stirred with in Rick. "Lori, she's been through a lot – she wasn't thinking straight."

"No," Sarah whispered, cutting over him. "She's right. I can't even begin to imagine."

Shane shot Rick a significant look and he shook his head defiantly, saying as much to his friend as to Sarah: "You'll learn fast. You have to – otherwise, you're just going to die."

But Sarah continued to stare at Carl like she'd seen a ghost. "I'm sorry. I don't even – I don't know what I was thinking."

"Because you weren't," Shane snapped. "I thought you were supposed to be smart?"

"Hey!" interrupted Rick. "She made a mistake and she's not going to make it again."

"You're not angry at all?!" yelled Shane, gesturing wildly to Sarah. "She could have gotten your son killed!"

Rick looked at Carl, remembering how much he'd gone through just to see his face again. "Carl should have known better than to let Sarah take him away from the van," he said eventually. He knelt down in front of his son, taking his shoulders and looking into those blue eyes that were almost the precise shade of his own. "From now on, you listen to your Mom when she tells you to do something – y'here me?"

"Yeah." Carl glanced up at Sarah. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"Good kid," he said, gruffly, pushing him gently over towards Lori.

Rick straightened up, standing in front of Sarah.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she muttered, avoiding his eye and looking at the ground. "I was stupid, I could have gotten us both killed, I'm –"

"Don't." He said, and she looked up into his face in surprise. "Don't blame yourself for this. Lori's right, you're not used to the rules of this world right now. But you're gonna learn."

He took the shot gun out of her arms and dumped it in Shane's hands. "You two are going down to the nearest town on a run for supplies."

"We are?" asked Shane flatly, raising an eyebrow.

"You're the one that thought she was a liability," shrugged Rick, "so you're gunna be the one to teach her how to survive."

* * *

**A/N **Shane/Sarah tag-team. That's going to be interesting.

Sarah's past between herself and her psychiatrist is going to be explored further next chapter, so that isn't the last your going to see of those scenes.

Please leave a review to tell me what you thought of this chapter!

Last Of The Lilac Wine


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N **To **Padme4000**: it was funny about Sarah's psychiatrist being called Dr Crane. I wrote the whole scene in one go, not even realizing the connection, and then when I was editing I read it back through and was like, huh. I almost changed the name because I didn't want anybody to make the connection and have some creepy idea of what _my _Dr Crane was like, but in the end I figured readers would appreciate the easter egg.

Story **Rated T **for graphic violence, swearing and mild sexual situations.

* * *

**CHAPTER 8**

* * *

"_Memory can change the shape of a room; it can change the color of a car. And memories can be distorted. They're just an interpretation, they're not a record, and they're irrelevant if you have the facts."_

_Memento (2000)_

* * *

"Rick…I don't –"

He grabbed her shoulders with such fierce intensity that Sarah tried to take a step back, but his fingers dug into her skin painfully and he pushed himself so close to her that their mere physical proximity took her breath away. "You have to," he hissed, with fierce intensity. "You _have_ to do this."

Her heart leapt into her throat as she detected the warning in the unsaid. "What's going on?" she whispered unsteadily, clutching his arms desperately. "What are you saying?"

"That if you don't acclimatize to all this soon, you become a liability - and the others…"

He tailed off and Sarah caught his meaning. "You wouldn't," she said and it was Rick's turn to try and back away, but Sarah clutched him so hard – with such wild desperation – that he was forced to stay in place; their faces inches apart so that all he could do was stare right into the fear in her eyes. He swallowed. "You _wouldn't_," she repeated.

He didn't have an answer for that and her expression turned more desperate. "Rick you are _all _I have left now," she said, her heart was beating rapidly. "If you don't look out for me –"

"That's not how it works now." He spoke more gently now, detaching her hands from his arms. They fell limply to her sides. He took a few steps back, putting some distance between them. "We can't revert back to how we were, Sarah. I can't look after you like that anymore."

"I'm not asking you to treat me like I'm eight again, Rick," she shot back, crossing her arms. "I'm asking you not to throw me out on the side of the road when the group decide they don't want me around anymore!"

"_If _the group decide they don't want you anymore."

She snorted, looking away bitterly. "Please."

"I know it's hard. I know they're punishing you for Jenner's mistake –"

"- _my _mistake," she whispered. Her eyes flickered back to his, their grey depths haunted. "I should have realized, I should have dragged him out of there –"

"Don't start on that."

"But I can't stop." Rick's eyes flickered from her face to her hands, which were clenching and unclenching spasmodically at her sides. "I'm at breaking point right now – I literally feel like I'm going to _break_ –" She broke off and looked at him, silently begging. "Don't push me like this. Especially not with Shane."

"What's wrong with Shane?"

She didn't reply, and he sighed. He suddenly remembered a guy he'd graduated from the academy with, who had responded to a call about suspicious activity at a neighbors. He'd told his partner that he'd had a bad feeling about it, but he went into the apartment anyway – just in time for a burglar to shoot him in the face.

Police officers tended to develop a good gut instinct on the job, and Rick's was telling him that he didn't want to do this to Sarah; that it wasn't a good idea – and yet…

"_You have to do this_," he reiterated, again. And there it was, they'd finally come round a full circle. "There's no other way – and it's Shane you need to reassure most of all."

She glared down at the grass under her feet. "Okay," she said finally. "Okay – but if I do this, you do two things for me."

"I'll try."

"No," she said, fiercely. "You _do this_. For me. For one, you talk to your kid."

"Carl?" asked Rick, non-plussed and caught off guard.

She nodded, brushing short strands of blonde hair out of her face. "That kid has some serious problems that you and Lori obviously aren't seeing, Rick."

He went cold. He and Lori had stayed up long into the nights worrying about Carl, about how this world would effect him. Lori had insisted on maintaining some normality in his life – giving him lessons like he would have had at school, giving him a few chores to do, but even Rick could see that it wasn't the same. "He's fine," he said, his voice unexpectedly hard. "I know my son."

"You forget I know what it's like to be the lost, lonely kid."

"He has his family."

"So did I – did it really make a difference?"

Rick felt anger boil in his veins. Suddenly, he wanted to make Sarah see how this was tearing him up inside. He wanted her to feel the sick knot in his stomach. "Lori isn't drinking herself to death. He doesn't have a brother who's trying to single handedly run the family. I'm still alive. You're seeing your past everywhere, Sarah. He's not you. You're seeing ghosts – as usual."

Her own anger fired up now, hot and sharp. "_I know reality_," she snapped. "And I can see what's right in front of me – _you_ just don't want to see what's really happening to him."

"You know what? I don't think you do know reality," he yelled, frustrated. "I think your past and your present are blending together until you don't really know the difference anymore."

Her voice cut him as soundly as a whip. "And whose fault is it that I'm seeing old ghosts?"

"I think –"

"_You _think?" Sarah gasped, placing her hand to her chest in feigned horror. They were both hurling insults now, their words curling round the other like barbed wire. "_You think_?" she repeated. "I'm shocked, Rick – I really am. Because, hey, from where I'm standing _those lot _seem to be doing the thinking for you." She flung her hand up to the left, pointing accusingly up at the group who had gathered round the cars a little distance off.

"Don't." He snapped.

"Don't what? Contest your leadership? How you run things round here? Can you not handle that, huh? Which brings me to my second thing, Rick. Be a better fucking leader! Would you really chuck your _hope for a cure _out onto the side of the road and drive off into the sunset because they don't trust me?! You know better! You _know_ that you can trust me! I shouldn't have to prove myself to them because you're too spineless to tell them what's right!"

She broke off, her anger suddenly dissipating. They were both panting harshly as if they'd run a marathon, eyeing each other with a kind of wary caution. It was the Catch-22 of meeting someone you hadn't seen in years. It was great to see them again, but sooner or later, one of you noticed how much the other had changed – how much of their lives you'd missed.

"Go and find Shane," he said, finally, his voice strangely hollow; his own mind reeling with the anger she had ignited in him "Get a map. Drive down to the nearest town and gather supplies. I'll see you when you get back."

* * *

Sarah stared as Rick brushed past her and walked off with out a backwards glance.

His words had hit her like a solid slap and her grey eyes were wide and swimming with all the scenarios that had come to pass since the outbreak. It hit her in full force for one – brutal moment – and then her features smoothed; her face suddenly, and coldly, impassive.

She stalked over to the beaten up station wagon, ignoring the gazes of the group like a physical burn on the back of her neck. Her face was red, her strides uneven and hurried and when she popped the door and climbed into the truck she shot Shane a vicious glare that told him not to say anything and start the car.

He rolled his eyes and turned the keys in the ignition. The truck rumbled into life, the engine working loudly beneath them, and the whole thing swayed as they bumped down the uneven grass verge and then onto the highway.

"Do I wanna know?" Shane asked, eventually. His hand was canted lazily across the steering wheel – his gaze was fixed firmly on the road – and there was a tenseness round his jaw that bellied the slight smirk on his face as he goaded the blonde haired woman next to him.

Sarah tore her gaze from the tree line at the edge of the road and faced Shane, giving him a pointedly distasteful look. He snorted.

"Can you shoot a gun?"

She didn't reply.

"Have you killed a walker before?"

More silence. His hands gripped the steering wheel a little more tightly. "Hey, Doc," he snapped, finally turning to look at her – somehow it felt like an admission of defeat, though by the dismissive look on her face as she stared out the car window, she couldn't have cared less. "I'm trying to help."

"_Really_?" she finally asked, her frosty grey eyes meeting his brown ones once again. "Because this whole idea _reeks _of your doing, so forgive me if I don't want to sit round a campfire with you, hold hands, and sing Kumbaya."

"You can't blame me for not trusting you."

She laughed then, loudly. "I _can't_?" He opened his mouth to shoot something back and she shook her head, waving a hand dismissively at him. "Forget it. I know you don't trust me. I don't care."

They were both quiet for a while, and Sarah felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise uncomfortably as the silence between them turned tense.

All she could think about was the first time she had ever spoken to Shane, and his warning to her – what he had instantly perceived. It hadn't been accurate, and he hadn't been _right_, but he had seen somethingbetween her and Rick and even though he had mistaken it for attraction, it still served as a reminder that – for whatever reason – Rick hadn't explained to anyone that he knew her.

_If he had, would this have all turned out differently? _She thought to herself, _would they trust me?_

Was Rick ashamed of having known her? Was it guilt? Did she remind him of a time in his life that he'd rather forget?

She didn't know.

"If we're going on a supply run," she asked Shane, finally. "Don't we need more people?"

He shook his head, dragging a hand over his brow – she saw one corner of his mouth lift as if she'd said something funny. "I think we both know that this ain't about supplies."

She watched as they drove past a walker. It was a woman, and her intestines were hanging out of a gash in her chest, a disgusting brown substance splattered over the floral pink dress she was wearing. She seemed to spot the car, and attempted to walk after them – hands reached out – following after them long after they were gone.

"What do you know about them?"

Sarah turned to see that Shane had been watching her watching _it_. She shrugged, more to relieve the tenseness in her shoulders that had crept up on her when she'd seen the walker than to communicate a lack of knowledge. "That wasn't really my field. We had other scientists that looked into the behavioral psychology of the walkers; the anatomy. I was looking at the virus. It was my job to find the cure."

"Yeah, but you must know more than we do! This thing just came out of nowhere," said Shane, taking a left at an intersection. They were off the highway now, driving down a main road that would eventually lead them to the town. There were less abandoned cars here and fewer walkers, but the quiet and the stillness only enhanced the apocalyptic feeling of their surroundings. "What the hell happened?"

_Yes, _thought Sarah,_ I do know more than you. I know that we're all infected. _

She lent her elbows on the dash of the truck. It was good to talk about science – comforting, even – because it was something she knew. In a world where everything had changed, holding on to that much at least, was a God-send. "New diseases occur for only a few reasons," she explained, ticking the points off on her fingers as she went, "Changes in organisms, changes in the environment and changes in the pathogens themselves. Seeing as there is no record of anything _close _to the 'walking-plague' in our history and human evolution takes thousands of years, most of the scientific community early on agreed that it was a product of our rapidly changing climate."

Shane glanced at her. "You had contact with other scientists?"

"To begin with."

She waited with trepidation for Shane to ask the million-dollar question that she'd feared being asked since she'd left the CDC; the chicken and the egg conundrum. But either his brain didn't work like hers, or – subconsciously – his mind was defending him from the knowledge – how did the first walker appear; if you had to be bitten to become one?

The outbreak of the walking dead had been a nightmare for more than the obvious reasons. For one, it had been impossible for epidemiologists to find Patient Zero. From what their graphs and models could track, cases had sprung up in multiple locations all at once, and in the issuing panic of the appearance of walkers and the breakdown of government, it hadn't been feasible to begin a search for them – considering 'John Doe' was now a walker and probably lying headless in a gutter by then.

But Shane didn't say anything more, and Sarah was saved having to concoct some elaborate lie. It was – amongst many things – something she would have to talk through with Rick.

The countryside melted away around them and houses began to pop up sparodically, and then entire streets. There were more walkers than ever now – Sarah could spot ten on this road alone – and she sucked in a deep breath every time they passed one. The air smelt faintly of wood smoke, and as they got closer to the center of the town, Shane told her to role up the windows and open the sun-roof ('in case we get surrounded').

"There," Sarah pointed. There was a Walmart on their right, and Shane shook his head like she'd said something wrong, but pulled into the parking lot anyway. When she made to get out of the car, he reached over and grabbed the handle. "Hey –"

"When the outbreak started, you wanna know where most people went?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, Sarah sank back into her seat, folding her arms. "Yeah. Walmart. Everyone needed supplies before they got out of town. Everyone needed food. Everyone needed weapons. If hospitals were over-run first, it was the big super-stores that went down next. Look."

She did as he instructed, leaning over him and peering out of his window. The front of the building was almost entirely made out of glass windows or doors and written across their entirety, like graffiti, were the words _DO NOT ENTER_. She could see hundreds of walkers slouching around aimlessly inside.

"I didn't realize…"

"How bad it was?" Shane drove out of the parking lot and back onto the main road. "Of course you didn't. You never had to see the panic, the fear in the beginning, did you?"

It was an accusation that left a bad taste in her mouth and reminded her of David Shephard.

…_You were all tucked up safely underground, weren't you? Didn't see a__thing__of the panic of the first out-break…_

And that, in turn, reminded her of Rick's words of seeing old-ghosts. She shut her eyes briefly, trying to dispel both of the voices in her head.

" - always hit the smaller shops first," Shane was telling her. "There's less walkers there."

"Aren't you worried about what's going to happen when all the food's gone?" she asked, absentmindedly.

"I'll worry about that when it comes to it."

She rolled her eyes. Everything she had done in the CDC in those two months, everything she had stood for, was the future. It was constantly on her mind, thinking about it; hoping for it. She shook her head. "Because that's the best idea I've ever heard."

"You start thinking about things like that, then you're not going to want to go on."

"You don't start thinking about things like that and it'll be people like you that'll be the end of humanity," she shot back.

Shane's eyes flashed with irritation, and his voice was mocking and cynical as he jabbed at her. "Always got one eye on the big picture, don't you, Doc?"

"Always," she assured him, her voice just as devoid of any traces of friendliness.

Shane parked the car on the curb of a smaller side street and jumped out quickly. He had a small pistol jammed in his belt and Dale's big shotgun cradled in his arms. After checking up and down the road twice, he waved for Sarah.

She jumped out of the truck quickly, her nerves already shredded. Shane popped the trunk and pulled her over. "Pick one," he instructed.

Sarah stared. Piled to one side of the trunk were several baseball bats, machetes, crow bars and any other kind of make-shift, close-combat weapon she could think of.

She knew that the human skull was one of the most hardest, durable surfaces in nature and that she didn't have the kind of upper-arm strength to crush it in one, clean blow. With a small smile she knocked a battered aluminum bat out of the way to reveal an axe with a wicked half-moon blade.

"It ain't rocket science – just pick something," Shane pushed, impatiently – keeping one eye on the road and one eye on Sarah.

_No, _she thought_, it's just my survival. _

She hefted the axe out of the trunk, though, testing its weight.

Predictably, it was too heavy, but she figured it was better than the small, tool-box hammer or the gimmicky bow and arrow – the kind you saw in a kid's Christmas stocking, or in films.

_Aim for the head, _she told herself, _that's all you have to do_.

She turned to face Shane and he nodded once, but did not comment on her choice in weapon.

Silently and carefully he led her across the street to the abandoned shops. Sarah tried to imagine what they had originally looked like, but all she could see were smashed windows and – a few doors down – a mess of rubble as if there had been some kind of explosion.

Despite her best efforts to stay calm, Sarah could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest, and her palms turn sweaty round her grip on the axe handle.

Across the road, she thought she saw a curtain twitch shut, but when she mentioned it to Shane, he just shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Whoever it is – they're safer up there. They won't bother us."

He pushed open the door to a shop and swore when a small bell tinkled. It cut over the quiet silence of the town and Shane whirled round. "Back up," he hissed. "Now!"

She did so, and they both crouched low behind a car waiting for…God knows what. Sarah's heart was thumping loudly in her chest as she watched a walker move about in the shop they'd just tried to enter. Nothing else came down the street.

"Okay," muttered Shane after a while, his breath hot on the cool sweat of her neck. "This is what we're going to do. You're gunna go in first –"

"Me?"

"You're the one with a silent weapon."

"So get your own out of the car."

He was silent, and Sarah realized the reason he wanted to send her in first wasn't for strategic reasons. "If I die because of you-"

"Jesus Christ I'll be covering you!" snapped Shane, impatiently.

Sarah was quiet again. She could feel the length of Shane's shotgun pressed uncomfortably into her lower back as he crouched low close behind her. It was almost unbearably hot and she tried to judge how long the both of them had been stuck behind the car for. Four minutes? Six? Her calf muscles were beginning to cramp badly beneath her, and she hadn't taken her eyes off of the walker that was loitering in the shade of the shop. The bright sunlight made the rest of the interior a dark cavern even through the slightly dusty windows; she had no idea if there were any more in there.

"Stay with me," she ordered, and was off like a loaded sprinter.

Once she'd made her mind up it was all very quick. The world shook around her as she ran, and she was aware of her and Shane's rapid footfalls over the rush of blood in her ears. The sound of the bell as she shouldered the door open was lost in the walker's moan as it turned around to face her, and she side stepped quickly into a more open area and swung the axe.

There was a sickening crunch as the blade made contact with the shoulder of the walker. Sarah hadn't anticipated how far the axe would go in, or how difficult it would be to get out once again. She gave one, futile jerk on the handle, but the blade barely moved. The walker lunged and she let go, backing away quickly down one of the isles.

She was aware of packets of food and other items strewn across the floor and for one, brief moment she considered pushing one of the shelves down onto the walker.

_Too loud _she scolded herself, _and too heavy_.

The walker was faster than Sarah thought it would be, and she was forced to dance further backwards to evade its grip. It was leaning heavily to its right, where the axe was sticking out at an angle from its shoulder, and it let out another moan, fingers scrabbling out desperately for her.

Through the blur of panic and adrenaline, Sarah mentally winced. It had been proven that the sound of one walker's cry was an indication of food, and that its call was likely to draw others.

She almost lost her footing as she stepped on a cereal box and she twisted round so that she could see where she was going. It was a tiny, small-town shop; a few more steps and she would have collided with the check-out counter had she still been walking backwards.

Sarah scrambled up onto the raised desk and turned, widening her base slightly to steady herself. She waited for a few seconds until the walker came with in reach and then she kicked out. There was another crunch as her heavy-duty boot connected with the walker's face and bone's shattered.

It crashed back onto the floor and Sarah jumped down and braced one leg onto its thrashing left arm – its right incapacitated from the axe in its side. Its teeth bit out desperately as its neck craned up towards her and Sarah almost looked away in revulsion. The adrenaline was fading, and real fear was pulsing through her.

She jerked at the axe handle again but it wouldn't come free. She looked up for Shane, and screamed out for him before the momentary distraction allowed the walker to flip her onto her back.

It was – had been – a man, and even dead they had a good thirty or forty pounds on her. She yelled out, grabbing its head to keep its snapping teeth away from her face and twisted until she felt its neck break. For one, perfect moment, Sarah thought that was all it would take, but even though the head hung more loosely – held up only by skin and muscle instead of the spine and neck bones – its hands still clawed uselessly at her.

_This is it. _

_I'm going to die._

"_Shane_!" she screamed, and the scream mingled with a gun shot and suddenly the walker went limp.

She kicked it off her and scrambled up, panting heavily. She looked at the walker and then down the isle to wear Shane was stood with his arms outstretched, a pistol clamped tightly in his hands. As he lowered the gun, Sarah bent down and attempted to jerk the axe out of its body. It took two or three tries before it came free – tearing off the walker's arm in the process – and Sarah looked at the weapon in revulsion before throwing it to the ground. "Useless piece of crap."

"It was blunt," Shane said tucking the pistol back into his belt before walking over to kick the axe to the side. "And your aim was off."

Her heart thumped painfully twice and then Sarah lunged forwards – knocking Shane into the shelves. Food showered to the ground as they tumbled to the floor and she was vaguely aware that she was hyperventilating; crying.

There was a shattering contact as they hit the floor – the blow for her only slightly softened by his body – and she could hear his yelling, her screaming; "_I could have died! You _knew_! And you didn't tell me?!" _

The noise from her dream had started once again. The off-tune frequency, the high-pitch wailing – the noise that blocked out everything else, even the sound of her own voice.

eeeeeee_eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_EEEEEEEEEEEEEE_EEEEEEEEEEEE_

She was shaking him, and then she was aware of something hard pulling on her hair so forcefully that her whole body came into contact with the floor. Her head hit last – utterly shattering and painful – and for one moment there was no noise at all, only a blurred outline of food, and a wall.

The high pitched noise was gone, but then again, so was everything else.

Sarah crawled onto all-fours as she tried to blink her eyes back into focus. She was bleeding out of one ear, and she could feel the warm slick of her blood continuing down her jaw line and onto her neck.

She looked up and saw the ghostly blur of Shane as he stood unsteadily. His lip was split, and the side of his face was red and she could see his fists balled up at his sides as if he was having to physically restrain himself.

Despite the physical pain she was in, Sarah managed to stand, too.

"What the _fuck _was that?" he demanded, but her head was still spinning.

_I don't know_, she thought, blankly.

But then some dark corner of her mind whispered something back very quietly.

_Yes, you do._

1992

Sarah curled up on the sofa in the waiting room so that her face was buried into the cushions and all she could see was darkness. Her hand pulled at a loose thread idly and if she went very still, and listened hard enough, she could hear was Dr Crane and Auntie Piper were saying in his office through the half-open door.

"She's making herself sick over tests; she's having mood-swings – the very idea that, God forbid, she might fail at something, terrifies her - this isn't _working_."

"We've been through what the other option is and you were very clear you didn't want that for her."

"She's only _eleven. _I can't put my eleven year old niece on anti-depressants and mood-stabilizers! It doesn't -"

"She has a condition, Mrs McCarthy, and as with any other condition, it has to be treated. I understand –"

"_Do you_? Do you know what it's like having to deal with this at home? I can't _sleep _I worry about her so much…"

Somebody strode towards the door and shut it fully and Sarah was suddenly alone in the waiting room. The silence was deafening.

She curled up into a ball a little more tightly and squeezed her eyes tight shut. She pretended she hadn't heard what Dr Crane had said. She pretended she hadn't heard anything at all.

(Present Day) Day 66

"Hey! Where the hell are you going?"

Shane ran after Sarah as she walked out of the shop. Her ear was still bleeding and her head was still fuzzy. She'd left the axe in the building: so that effectively, she was utterly defenseless.

She stood in the middle of the road, looking up and down it wildly. "Where is it?" she whispered to herself, feverishly. "Where is it?"

"Hey!"

She carried on walking down the street. She could hear Shane stop in his pursuit of her, but she didn't turn back. "_Where are you going_?" he yelled, again.

Sarah didn't reply. She was looking into each shop hurriedly, walking further and further away from him. She picked her way through the rubble of another building, and pulled at her sweat-soaked shirt distractedly. Eventually, she came to an intersection. She paused for a second and turned around.

Shane was standing a little down the street, the shotgun hanging in his left hand. He was using his right hand to shade his eyes as he stared at her and for one, brief second, Sarah imagined that she'd met his gaze, even though he was too far away to determine if she had or not.

Then she rotated back around slowly and turned the corner of the street, disappearing from Shane's view entirely.

This street was covered in a fine layer of dust, as if it had been abandoned for several years instead of a few months. There were cars parked haphazardly all over the road – one was crashed into a wall a little ahead of her – and a few meters on were two or three walkers.

Sarah cast around for a moment, still with the same slow bleariness as before. Moving her head too fast caused it to spin, and when she reached up and touched her ear again she felt an acute ache in her temple.

She crouched down and picked up a length of lead piping. It was dense and jagged at one end from where had it had been broken. _…Better than the axe_, Sarah thought distantly.

She carried on down the road with the same dogged purpose as before, looking into each shop as she passed them. Anyone looking could have mistaken her for a freshly turned walker – her movements were that disjointed and slow.

She stopped outside one building; squinting up into the sunlight at the sign hanging above the door – and walked in. It was as hot and stuffy in the shop as it was outside, but Sarah felt a sudden wave of release. It was a pharmaceutical.

She hurried to the back and vaulted the counter quickly to search the shelves of drugs behind it; her memory was perfectly clear – she could remember the list plain as day.

1992

"We've run some tests," Dr Crane said, leaning forward in his chair, "….we're certain it's a manic-depressive illness."

Sarah was sat in the same seat as she usually took in their sessions; opposite the psychiatrist's – except this time, her Auntie Piper was sat next to her. "But what _is _it?" her Aunt pushed, brushing a bit of frizzy, fly-away blonde hair out of her eyes. She looked upset, like she always did when she was tense or angry. "I don't –"

Dr Crane's eyes slid to Sarah for a second, but she avoided his gaze; staring down at her feet. She heard him sigh. "It's more commonly known as bipolar disorder."

There was a hush that lasted several seconds. "Can…I didn't…children can get this?"

"It's harder to diagnose in children than in adults. Adults have distinctive periods of depression and mania that can last for weeks…children can have depressive and manic symptoms that occur daily – sometimes simultaneously. In Sarah's case, however, I am certain she has BD."

"But in the newspaper's…"

"I'm well aware of the controversy surrounding the diagnosis of bipolar disorder in children at the moment, Mrs McCarthy."

Piper McCarthy's hand slipped round Sarah's slim shoulders and she looked at her niece – her clever, talented, lost niece – for a moment, "…are you sure it's not ADHD? Or something like –"

"I'm quite sure."

Sarah fidgeted, and for the first time she lifted her head to look Dr Crane in the eye. "Will I get better?" she asked, in a small voice. "I mean…it's not…" She struggled, and her voice tailed off, but she continued to stare up at him with wide grey eyes.

"This isn't a sickness like pneumonia or a cold, Sarah," the older man said, gently. "It's not 'curable' per say…but with the right medication you won't feel so sad or angry all the time."

"I'll be normal?"

"You already _are _honey," Sarah's Aunt interrupted, squeezing her shoulders slightly and throwing a glare at the psychiatrist as if it were his fault. "You're perfect."

"Part of the disorder is stemming from Sarah's perfectionism, Mrs McCarthy" Dr Crane, cut in, a warning tone in his voice. "I heavily recommend that as part of her family therapy you teach her important life lessons like the fact that one person can't always be the best at everything, that failing is okay -"

"Are you saying I'm not raising her properly?" asked Auntie Piper, her cheeks red.

"Forgive me," said Dr Crane, raising his hands; a white flag. "I chose my words poorly." He paused, for a brief moment, and then looked through the papers on his lap. "I've got the list of prescription drugs Sarah will need here for you to have a look at, and I've outlined the possible side-effects and risks of each…if you take this home, have a read through it and give me a ring when you've made your decision –"

Sarah's Aunt had taken the list from the Doctor's hands and was reading through it with a rapidly increasing look of alarm on her face. "Possible liver and kidney damage…hallucinations –"

"- all very minor," Dr Crane, interrupted, but when the woman opposite him continued to look dubious he sighed and took his glasses off, polishing them quickly before replacing them onto his face. "Piper," he said, seriously. "This is for her own good."

(Present Day) Day 66

Sarah had not suffered with the symptoms of bi-polar disorder in years; she thought she could control it...and she knew it had resurfaced.

In a world where everything was expected of her, where there was so much pressure to save those around her, how could she have been so stupid as to not have foreseen this?

_I'm at breaking point, Rick-_

She almost laughed. She'd had no idea how real those words would become when she'd uttered them.

Sarah froze suddenly.

The piece of lead piping in her left hand was dangling uselessly at her side, her right had still trailing over the collection of pills and medicines. Out of her peripheral, she could see a heroine-thin man in a black hoody pointing a gun at her.

"Back away," he said, waving the gun in an indication for her to move away from the shelves.

"I just need –"

There was a click as the safety was flicked off the man leveled the gun at Sarah's forehead. "I said, back away."

She did so, glancing behind her for something – anything; she could see the street outside, sun-washed and empty of human life with a few walkers stumbling around.

"Don't look there," the man commanded, but as Sarah stared at him, she realized he could barely be more than a boy. A sallow, sunken skinned youth. He only be twenty or twenty one. "If you call out, you're dead."

"I've got no one to call out to."

"Bullshit."

The boy stepped out of the shadows of the corner a little more, and Sarah backed up until her back hit the counter. He was almost as filthy as she was, but much weaker looking. She would have been able to take him – if he didn't have the gun. Her eyes flickered from the weapon to his face and back again several times.

"What are you doing here?"

"I needed meds."

"For what? You don't look sick to me."

"That's my business."

The boy paused. "I ain't seen a woman in a long time."

"Look, I just need the meds –"

"I know what you want," he snapped, and his hands trembled.

He had the jitters of a hard-core drug addict and Sarah swallowed heavily.

"How did you get here?" he asked, finally.

"A car."

"A car?"

"That's what I said isn't it?" Sarah snapped, impatiently, but his finger squeezed the trigger of the gun slightly and she flinched. The boy laughed.

"Where'd you get the fuel from?"

"Siphon it off other cars."

He looked at the lead pipe in her hands. "You got guns?"

"The others do."

"They got ammunition?"

Sarah looked behind her to the street again…if she just jumped over the counter, ducked…

"I told you not to look back there."

She turned to face him quickly. "I'm sorry."

"Take your top off."

Sarah's eyes narrowed. "Do I look like an imbecile to you?"

"I swear to God I'll shoot you."

"That's a waste of a bullet."

They stood for a long while, staring at each other.

"Take your top off," he repeated again. "Or I will kill you."

"We both know what's going to happen to me if I do that," she said, coolly. "And I'd rather die. Go ahead, shoot me."

He trembled again, but the gun didn't stray from the middle of her forehead.

Sarah felt like she'd swallowed battery acid. Her throat was burning, her stomach was churning uncomfortably and a sweat had broken out all over her skin.

Her eyes flickered to a spot behind him, and she felt a jolt when she saw the drugs she'd been looking for just to the right of his head – Zyprexa, valproic acid.

"Okay…" the boy said, readying the gun.

"_Wait_," Sarah snapped, panicking. "Jesus, fine – just…wait…"

She touched the hem of her white T Shirt and swallowed heavily – her heart pounding – and pulled the material up to reveal the skin of her stomach.

The boy's eyes gleamed, and, distracted momentarily, the gun dropped an inch or two.

Sarah lunged forwards and cracked his skull with the pipe. He crumpled to the floor and the gun went off, blasting into the counter an inch or so to Sarah's left.

She scrambled forwards, grabbing the valproic acid and zyprexa and then turned to flee the shop. She could hear the boy screaming behind her, clutching his head that was bleeding out over the white tiled floor, but her attention was now solely focused on the four walkers that were barring her exit from the shop – attracted inside by the screams and gun shot.

* * *

**A/N **So sorry this took so long to write. I know Sarah's bipolar disorder is very Carrie/Homeland-ish, but I had this planned from the beginning and this is exactly how I wanted her character to develop.

And yes, Sarah is stuck, in a shop, with a dying druggie in the middle of nowhere – facing four walkers – having abandoned Shane.

_Last Of The Lilac Wine_


End file.
